


Nothing Lasts Forever

by CaptainKenway



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Contestant Adam, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Past and Present, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Story within a Story, story-ception, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 150,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/pseuds/CaptainKenway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Maroon 5's failure to make it in the cutthroat music industry, Adam works as a somewhat, not really content songwriter. Everything changes when James Valentine (his friend, supposedly) gets Adam an audition for The Voice. Just how much will this reality show alter Adam's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_May 2015_

Adam Levine let out a deep breath, his knuckles whitening from his death grip on the microphone. They were opening up with a song, as judges—God, judges—do. It was a Queen medley, which was great. It showcased his falsetto and guitar abilities. The judges’ rehearsal went off without a hitch. Yet here he was, having flashbacks to his very first concert to a crowd of maybe 11 people, including his mom, that he may have only gotten through by turning his back to the audience.

A cold sweat spread on his forehead when stagehands scrambled to the side of the stage as Carson was cued at the other side of the back drop. Adam didn’t belong here. The Voice’s secrecy about their new fourth judge built unnecessary suspense. No one was going to take him seriously as a judge. Why would they?

“Not nervous, are you, rock star?” a familiar country twang asked.

Adam turned to Blake Shelton with what he hoped was a cocky grin. Blake’s face told him it could optimistically labeled a grimace.

“They wouldn’t have asked you to judge if they doubted your ability,” Blake reassured. Again.

Adam released another slow breath. His heart continued to pound. “I’m their pet project. Of course they want me here.”

“If you believed that was their only motive, you wouldn't have signed the judge contract,” Blake scoffed. His eyes suddenly turned sincere. Adam couldn’t tear his gaze away. Damn earnest country boy. “Adam, you offer an edge none of us can even come close to offering. It’s not like you had your hand held your entire music career. You’ve made independent connections and smart decisions that have only helped your success. That’s what contestants want. Along with actual musical advice.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ve told you over and over you’re a skilled vocalist—my favorite actually,” Blake interrupted. “Even if we’re not supposed to pick favorites...You improve singers I already think are top-notch. You have a gift. You’ll make a great coach, Adam. Once everyone gets past the fact you’re an asshole.”

Adam snorted as the audience began cheering. “You only want me on The Voice for bragging rights.”

Blake’s eyes brightened. “It does make recruiting easier.”

“Welcome to season 10 of The Voice!” Carson Daly said as the camera zoomed in on The Voice’s lit up stage. “The only singing competition that uses today’s biggest voices to mentor hopeful singers. Each superstar coach is going to build a team of 20 singers. We have returning veterans 2 time winner Pharrell Williams, season 8 winner Gwen Stefani, and 4 time winner Blake Shelton. And, for the first time in The Voice’s history, our fourth judge will be a past Voice contestant. Everyone put your hands together for season 2’s Adam Levine!”

The backdrop rose to the audience’s cheers. A single spotlight shone down on Adam. He briefly closed his eyes, letting the audience’s cheers rush over him, trying not to twitch at the camera peering down at him. He felt like he was under a microscope. Only Blake’s solid presence next to him and his sheer determination to prove that he belonged kept him on the stage. He took a deep breath as the music started. It was time.

_"Mama...just killed a man...”_

_March 2000_

Adam’s leg jiggled up and down, rubbing against the leather couch. His fellow bandmates sat in tense silence around the formidable office. Jesse took deep breaths, James kept twisting his watch around his wrist, Ryan tapped his hands in a senseless rhythm against his lap, and Mickey stared straight ahead like he was preparing for the firing squad.

They were at Almatrax Records, a music production company that Kara’s Flowers didn’t even bleep the radar of. Which was understandable. Kara’s Flowers was a glorified high school garage band. Adam, Jesse, Ryan, and Mickey took their complete failure and came out stronger years later and with the addition of James on lead guitar. They rebranded as Maroon 5—which literally came from the James’ musings that maroon was a cool color, but fingers crossed that the origin of the band name was never a persistent question—and compiled a demo showcasing their new sound. Almatrax Records was the tenth musical production company Maroon 5 sent a demo to, but the first to call them in a second time.

The band was decidedly nervously. Almatrax was definitely the most well-known music studio  in Los Angeles. They consistently produced chart toppers and had many successful artists—hello Rhianna, Black Eyed Peas, Kanye West—in their company. Adam had no idea why Almatrax was so successful, but he, like other up and coming artists, was eager to jump abroad. Almatrax almost guaranteed success, but their turnover rate—like everywhere—was harsh.

Maroon 5 collectively straightened when Mr. Plaza, one of the head producers, waltzed into his office. He flashed a gleaming smile at them. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, boys. You know how the music industry is.”

“We’d like to find out,” Adam said.

Mr. Plaza laughed. Adam relaxed minutely. He laughed his joke. That certainly didn’t mean anything _bad._ Of course, Plaza specialized in deciding which new music to infuse with the bullet train that was Almatrax. He probably denied countless other singers in this office with a grin.

“Of course, of course!” Plaza said, leaning forward on his desk. “We deliberated a long time on you. I was torn over your demo. So I consulted some of my colleagues. You have a unique sound.”

Adam nodded. Shit why did he have to be frontman? Plaza’s eyes were drilling holes through the scrawny singer.

Plaza’s face drew into a grimace. Adam’s stomach dropped. “I’m sorry to say that Almatrax Records has to pass on Maroon 5.”

“Oh...” Adam said. Damn it, this could have been taken care of over the phone. His fist tightened as he thought back to the band’s buzzing excitement on the car ride over here. They thought they finally caught a break from their constant string of rejections.

“However,” Plaza said after a moment, “we have an offer.”

Adam raised an eyebrow.

“An offer?” James repeated.

Plaza nodded solemnly, his blonde hair remaining plastered to his skull as he turned his head to each band member before settling on Adam. “Yes, an offer. Almatrax isn’t interested in Maroon 5. But your songs have potential. We want to buy your songs for our other artists. All five of you will be equally—and generously—compensated.”

“We’re a band, not songwriters for hire,” Adam snapped. The words ‘Almatrax isn’t interested in Maroon 5’ ricochetted around his head. The music was great. Adam bit his lip as a weight dropped in his stomach. His voice wasn’t up to par.

“I realize you came in here with different expectations,” Plaza said. “You were the main songwriter, correct? Your bandmates mostly worked on the music?”

“We all contributed,” Adam said stiffly.

“Yet you wrote most of the lyrics?” Plaza repeated.

“Yes.”

“Well, Almatrax Records would like to extend a job offer to you, Mr. Levine,” Plaza said. “We want you to come on officially as a songwriter for our company.”

Adam’s head jerked back. He had been dreaming of being a musician ever since he was in middle school. Touring as Kara’s Flowers marked the beginning the best time of his life. Even the failure, which stung at the time, only served to reinvigorate the band. Making their new songs, with their new sound, was an extensive process, an exciting process. Adam felt possessive over the songs. He didn’t want some other artist singing _his_ songs. He glanced at his bandmates. They were mostly shell-shocked. Except for Ryan. Ryan looked intrigued.

“I realize that you were not prepared to hear this offer,” Plaza said, letting some steel enter his voice, “but understand that this offer expires as soon as you leave this office. I’ll give you all a few minutes to talk this out.”

The door barely swung shut behind the producer as the band erupted into chaos.

“ _Buy_ our songs?”

“We could probably find—”

“The rest of us wouldn’t even—”

“—much do you think they’d pay—”

“Fucking 'not interested.’ ”

“I think we should take it,” Ryan interrupted. The band fell into a startled silence as they turned to their drummer. “Almatrax was the last actual decent record company we’ve gone to. We tried to be musicians as Kara’s Flowers. We failed. You know what happened when we started writing serious music as Maroon 5? Big companies remain uninterested in us.”

“We still have—” Adam began.

“Small ass companies with maybe 2 other clients?” Ryan finished. “Yeah, last time we went with a company like that, we failed.”

Jesse frowned. “That was because we weren’t prepared as Kara’s Flowers—”

“Yes, yes, I _know_ ,” Ryan said. “Yet, here we are as Maroon 5 with even less fame than Kara’s Flowers. The only difference is that a successful studio is willing to pay us _more_ money to use our songs. I say we go for it.”

Words vanished in Adam’s mouth as none of the other bandmates looked inclined to protest.

“We gave it a shot,” Ryan shrugged. “But I’m tired of not having a real job. They don’t tell you how much being a struggling musician sucks. I want to be able to pay my bills, eat out. I haven’t been able to do that in months. None of us have.”

“The paycheck could probably cover college,” Mickey mused.

“And then some,” Ryan agreed.

Adam’s mouth went dry. “Do...do you guys want to break up the band?”

“No offense, Adam,” Ryan said. “But what band? We haven’t toured, we haven’t played any venues. The only thing we've accomplished was make a demo tape.”

“You were offered a job, Adam,” Mickey said. “You could still be in the music industry.”

Adam flinched. Mickey was probably trying to comfort him. Being a songwriter was like aiming for pitcher and ending up the baseball mascot instead.

_Almatrax isn’t interested..._

Adam poured his everything into Maroon 5 and even that wasn't enough. 

“We could still try the smaller companies...” James said. “They’re more desperate.”

“Yeah, we might get on with one of those studios,” Ryan said. “But that won’t make us successful.”

“There’s more to music than being famous,” James said stiffly.

“Being famous certainly helps,” Ryan said. “This is our job. Jobs should earn us money. I can only love something and get nothing in return for so long. I feel like a year is a long enough time for that.”

“This is LA,” Adam said. “There are music studios literally created every day. We can—”

“This offer is going to expire soon,” Ryan interrupted. “I don’t want to blow our chance to actually get paid. They aren’t interested in the band. That’s fine. But they _are_ interested in paying us...”

“But—” Adam said.

“Don’t be selfish, Adam,” Ryan said. “This isn’t about you.”

“I never said it was about me,” Adam snarled.

“You’re a good singer, but—”

_Almatrax isn’t interested..._

“Not good enough?” Adam finished cynically. The ringing silence made his heart pang. He blinked a few times, refusing to let his gaze drift to any of his bandmates. Jesse began a defense of Adam’s voice, but Adam ignored him. Jesse was his best friend and therefore bias. He didn’t count. “Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of selling our songs to Almatrax, raise your hands.”

Ryan raised his immediately. Mickey studied the ground before slowly raising his hand. He shrugged apologetically to Adam. Adam’s gaze slipped to Jesse. Jesse gave him a small smile and shook his head, his hands resolutely clasped in his lap. Adam’s sigh of relief caught in his throat when he turned his attention to James. The guitarist frowned at Plaza’s chair.

James looked up from his own mental deliberation. “Really? I’m the swing vote?” His joke fell flat as the only response was a half-hearted grimace from Mickey. Adam’s stomach swooped. James held Adam’s future in his hands. Yes, Adam and Jesse could try to embark on their own musical career, but if the combined musical minds of Maroon 5—for however long the band lasted—couldn’t create the right mixture of music and lyrics to intrigue music studios, what hope did Adam and Jesse have? Adam was selfish. He wanted to make music for a living. He wanted to inspire others like how music inspired him growing up. He knew if James voted yes, he was going to sign on as a songwriter with Almatrax.

Because being the mascot was good enough for a baseball fanatic.

“I’m sorry Adam and Jesse,” James said finally. “I’m going to side with Ryan and Mickey.”

Jesse’s hand on Adam’s arm tightened. Adam slumped forward, burying his head in his hands. He had to go with the band. Even if the band’s decision gutted him.

_April 2011_

“I can’t believe you,” Adam spat, storming through the hallway. Other Almatrax employees scattered under his glare. He had gotten into plenty of arguments at work—thanks to his lack of filter and ADHD, he had a talent of spewing random shit—but he rarely was truly angry. Rage pulsed through Adam now.

“They want you!” James protested, walking quickly to keep up with Adam’s quick pace. James, ironically the only ex-Maroon 5 member who had a backup plan when they disbanded in Plaza’s office roughly a decade ago, signed on at Almatrax as a guitarist a couple months after that fateful meeting. James wrote music and floated to different Almatrax bands. The bands never seemed to last more than a couple years, but James was kept on because he was a fucking great guitar player. Adam also stole him every once in a while for musical advice. It reminded him of the old days, sue him.

The other ex-Maroon 5 members went their separate ways. Jesse briefly wrote music with Adam in the early years, but he soon gave into his hippie tendencies and floated around the country doing whatever job struck his fancy. Jesse moved back to LA last year and currently worked as a masseuse. Adam personally gave that current career another six months tops before Jesse grew bored. Mickey went to college and exited four years later as an engineer. He still played bass, according to James. But Adam was diligent in pretending that James and Mickey's jam sessions—that Jesse always infilitrated—didn’t exist. He went to one jam session years ago. They were decidedly too nostalgic and full of old hopes and dead dreams for Adam to return again. Ryan had also returned to college. He was now a middle school social studies teacher. He moved to Oregon and married Amber seven years ago. Ryan, like Adam, also never played with the band, except at Maroon 5's first and last venue, Ryan's wedding.

“I don’t fucking care,” Adam said, scowling at a door leading to one of Almatrax’s many recording studios. Damn James. Music calmed him and James still managed to ruin his mood. Adam had been in the middle of working on a song’s chorus when James waved the letter in his face. “If I wanted to be on a fucking singing show I would.”

“The Voice is different,” James protested. “The judges actually know what they’re talking about. They can listen to you sing and—”

“I literally have some of the biggest musical heads hearing me sing every week,” Adam interrupted. “I feel like if my voice was good enough, I would’ve been fucking ‘discovered’ by now.”

“Adam—”

“Stop living in the past, James,” Adam snapped, stopping in the hallway to turn and glare at the guitarist. “I’m not a vocalist. I’m a songwriter.”

“Adam, you should give this a shot,” James said.

“I’m not going on a fucking singing competition,” Adam hissed. “Leave it alone. How many times do I have to say it? I’m not a singer. Get your head out of your nostalgic ass.”

“You can make it far,” James said, in his I-know-all-things-music voice. “Your voice—”

“Isn’t good enough,” Adam snapped.  “As proven by your decision to break up the band.”

James flinched. “That isn’t fair.”

“The truth rarely is.”

“You know how much I regret—”

“Too little, too late,” Adam said. “Regrets only drag you down. I’ve moved on. Jesse has moved on. Everyone has moved on but you.”

James next words halted Adam’s retreat. “She Will Be Loved.”

Adam loathed how that song instantly rendered him frozen. “...What?”

“She Will Be Loved,” James said. “Otherwise known as Franz Ferdinand’s very poppy failure. Fans pretend that song doesn’t exist and everyone in 2001 used it as a punch line.”

“Yes, I know,” Adam said between gritted teeth. He turned and glowered at James. She Will Be Loved was the first of many times Almatrax demonstrated how little artistic liberty Adam held with his songs. Yes sometimes Almatrax’s changes improved the song, but monstrosities like Ferdinand’s She Will Be Loved existed because of it. “It doesn’t deserve that reputation.”

“Oh trust me, I _know_ ,” James said. “I love that song, but She Will Be Loved is your baby. And Almatrax turned it into a mutilated hip hop beast.”

“What’s your point?” Adam said.

“The Voice is easily the most popular singing show.”

“It’s only their second season,” Adam dismissed, his eyes narrowing on James’ line of thought.

“And they’ve already beat Idol in ratings,” James said. “What does that tell you?”

“Idol sucks.”

“It tells you that millions of people will be tuning into The Voice,” James said, long hair framing his face.

“So?” Adam asked petulantly.

“ _So_ you can audition with She Will Be Loved,” James said, “and sing it how it’s supposed to for a large audience.”

Adam sneered at James. The guitarist stared back calmly. Damn it, this line of logic shouldn’t work. James shouldn’t be able to convince him to sing on the fucking Voice by telling him to sing a specific song. And yet...

Fuck. James knew how possessive he was (unrightly so) over his songs. Fucking James.

Damn it, people at Almatrax still mocked She Will Be Loved to this day.

 _Fucking_ James.

“I’ll do it,” Adam said.

James broke out with a victorious grin. Asshole.

“How did you get The Voice to accept me, anyway?” Adam asked.

“I sent them tapes of you singing.”

“You recorded me?”

“You realize that you sing every song you write,” James said. “I talked to Stacy from archives and copied some of your older recordings. I picked good ones, don’t worry.”

“You have no sense of privacy,” Adam said. “I don’t sing that well in demos.”

“First off, bullshit,” James said. “You would rather die than sing less than your best. And second off, if you weren’t trying hard on those recordings and The Voice still wants you, what does that say about your voice?”

“They’re desperate?”

A flicker of annoyance and melancholy crossed his face. “The Voice isn’t like Idol. They’re very picky about their initial core audition group. You have to be a great singer to even be considered.”

Adam scoffed. “Right.”

James pursed his lips. “You’ll see that I’m right.”

“We’ll see, Jamison,” Adam said. “Did you use any of my newer recordings? They seem more relevant.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the competition,” James said.

“I don’t.”

“I couldn’t send them any of your current songs,” James said after a moment where he looked unnecessarily smug. Adam refused to let James abuse his competitive streak along with his possessive nature. “Seeing as how most of them aren’t on the radio yet and are still under lock and key. The executives don’t want this summer’s hits leaking.”

Adam rolled his eyes, face flushing. “I don’t always write hits.”

“Where’s my cocky asshole friend?” James asked. “At least 2/3 of the songs you write turn into hits. And you write a shit ton.”

“Which further proves that I’m a successful songwriter, not singer,” Adam said.

“I can’t wait to see the judges’ faces when they find out that you’ve been working for the biggest music production company,” James said.

“Whatever, man,” Adam dismissed. He walked away pretending his mind wasn’t already racing, the lyrics of She Will Be Loved rising in his head.

 

_May 2011_

Adam refused to let himself be nervous.

He failed miserably. His leg twitched whenever he sat. So he tried standing, which led to pacing. He paced around the waiting room at least thirty times, passing other singers in a similar frazzled state. When he returned to his chair, his fidgeting came back with a vengance. Adam pointedly stopped drumming his fingers when he caught James’ knowing stare. James and Jesse joined Adam to his audition. James had to be here so he could finally stop pestering Adam to be more than a songwriter. Obviously if Adam was meant to be a singer, it would have happened already. Where was this faith when they were in Plaza’s office all those years ago? _Almatrax isn’t interested..._ Adam forced his attention back into the present.  

He focused on a concerned mom comforting her crying daughter. She sang her heart out—Damn, Adam would’ve turned around for her if he was in one of those imposing red chairs—but she was rejected. The chairs and judges remained unaffected during her audition. Fuck, if she didn’t make it, what hope did Adam have? James was right. The Voice did have higher standards. So high that Adam imagined the tips of his fingers barely scrapping the bottom of them.

Jesse’s hand squeezed his as the next audition number appeared. Fuck, Adam was next. He tried to take a deep breath.

“At least you already did your interview with Carson Daly,” Jesse murmured.

Adam nodded mutely, tuning out James and Jesse’s reassurances and bad jokes. Daly interviewed each group individually hours before. It was extensive for Daly but The Voice didn’t know who would have an intro when it came time to air the episode. Adam briefly pictured his. Random close up of a tell of his anxiety, Daly’s voiceover introducing him as the thirty-one year old songwriter from LA—Adam breifly debated telling NBC his career before ultimately deciding it didn’t matter. Intros were generally only reserved for the actually talented singers. When Daly asked him which judge he would choose—optimistic question asked to everyone—Adam shrugged and said Usher. Not that his answer mattered anyway. But he figured Christina, Usher, and Cee Lo dabbled in music he was interested in (i.e. not country) so why not. Plus Usher was last season’s winning coach.

Almatrax didn’t know Adam was here. Adam chose to use his vacation time in favor of telling anyone about his Voice audition. Everyone, besides Jill, Almatrax's elderly HR manager. Because James continued to intrude on his life and dragged Adam down to Human Resources so he could explain his potential leave of absence. Jill prepared the appropriate papers with an encouraging word and promise to keep Adam’s audition quiet.

“Mr. Levine?” a bushy-haired assistant asked. “Please follow me. Your friends can stay here. Carson Daly will get them when it’s time.”

A brutal wave of nausea swept over Adam. What were the lyrics? Shit, what if he barfed on stage on national television? He’d definitely be aired if he caused a scene like that during his audition. Fuck fuck fuck. Why did he allow James to manipulate him? Allow Jesse’s hopeful eyes to force him here? Allow Mickey and Ryan’s calls of encouragement to make him practice more? Fucking why?

“Adam,” Jesse said, “breathe.”

“Unless it’s getting harder to breathe,” James said.

A snort escaped Adam. “Oh my God, are you serious right now?”

James smiled. “Do She Will Be Loved proud. I’ll be waiting to say I told you so whenever you’re finished.”

The assistant remained frowned as he led Adam through the double doors. “She Will Be Loved?”

Adam grinned at the assistant’s tone of faint disbelief. “Yep.”

“Well, it’s not like you can make that song any worse.”

Adam nervously gripped his guitar, listening as the coaches gushed and fought over the powerhouse voice that escaped from the miniscule sixteen year old girl. Fuck he was supposed to follow that performance with a pop culture punchline.

“My thoughts exactly,” Adam murmured.

“Good luck, Mr. Levine,” the assistant said.

Adam’s stomach dropped as the judges’ chairs all swung around, the imposing, emotionless backs facing him. He walked toward center stage at the assistant's prodding. Nothing Adam could do now. He knew that this stage could change his life, despite his original reluctance. He clamped down on his vague sense of hope. James was right. Whenever Adam sang, he sang his best. This would be the final trial to see if his voice was good enough.

He couldn’t bear to go through any more.

 

* * *

 

“Call it, Blake,” Christina said chirpily, still on high from snagging the starstruck sixteen year old that just left the stage. Blake had fought for her but the girl was obviously a fan of Christina’s.  “High heels, moccasins, boots...”

“Blake is probably hoping for cowboy boots,” Usher said, a couple seats down.

“Don’t be upset that no country singer wants y’all,” Blake said. “It just shows their good taste.”

“Quiet on set,” Heather said. Heather was The Voice director. Blake often wondered if she ever knew she’d eventually be in charge of babysitting professional singers. He somehow doubted it. He closed his eyes, secretly hoping he did hear cowboy boots. The last few singers he turned for picked another coach. He need a lock-in like a hopeful country singer. Even though he really did need more genre variety on his team...

The pluck of guitar filled the room. Blake nodded slightly at the bohemian sound. He didn’t recognize the tune, but his familiarity with non-country songs was lacking at best. Besides, he rarely initially recognized song’s acoustic version, which this obviously was.

Blake’s eyes remained closed, visibly jerking back when the singer crooned the beginning of the song.

_“Beauty queen of only eighteen,_

_She had some trouble with herself,_

_He was always there to help her,_

_She always belonged to someone else...”_

The voice filling the stage wasn’t a powerhouse, few rarely were, but just the sound of his _tone_ and _voice_... Blake didn’t register slapping his button until the audience cheered and he whipped around to face the stage. A smile broke out on his face. Tattoos littered the singer’s arms, his spiky dark hair and sharp face looked more suited for a heavy metal rock star than someone crooning with a guitar.

The singer’s hazel eyes widened at Blake’s turned chair, but his fingers didn’t hesitate on the guitar, his voice didn’t quiver or flinch. Blake grinned when they made eye contact.

_“I don’t mind spending every day,_

_Out on the corner in the pouring rain,_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile,_

_Ask her if she wants to stay awhile_

_And she will be loved...”_

Blake’s grin widened at the singer’s effortless falsetto. His whoop was cut off by Christina and Usher’s almost simultaneous press of their buttons.

“No!” Blake protested. Usher shot him a shit-eating grin before turning his admiring eyes to the singer. Christina swayed her arms in the air.  Blake focused on the singer. He sang so effortlessly, hitting all the notes. This singer was fantastic, so talented Blake was honestly surprised he didn’t already have a record deal and a couple albums already out. Fuck he would go far in this competition. Blake frequently rained compliments on contestants, but he rarely had these thoughts so early in the competition.

Blake wasn’t even surprised when Cee Lo hit his button a few moments later. Cee Lo would’ve been a dumbass to pass on this singer. The contestant's eyes grew impossibly wider. First four chair turnaround of the day. He looked like he was in a daze.

Blake led a standing ovation when the singer let out his last note. He smiled at the cheering audience. A glance back at the singer showed he was still shocked. The singer gripped his guitar tightly.

“I have to say, all the girls in the audience thank you for coming out and singing today,” Christina said. Damn it, she had her flirty smile on. Her flirty smile worked nearly 70% of the time.

“He is very sexy, isn’t he?” Blake said. An audience member wolf whistled as the singer let out a startled laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Some of us want to do more than just sexualize you,” Usher said. “What’s your name, man?”

“Uh, I’m Adam Levine,” the singer said, swinging the guitar to his back.

“Adam, your voice is so incredible,” Usher said.  “I knew within the first few notes that—”

“Why’d you wait so long, Usher?” Blake interrupted. “I turned my chair around for you first, Adam.”

“I was just waiting to see if his voice went where I wanted it to go,” Usher said. “It did that and then some. You blew me away, Adam.”

The audience clapped.

“You blew me away in a more profound way,” Cee Lo said. Adam laughed into the microphone. “Your voice...there’s a tone to it that’s different than any other singer that’s on the radio. I love it, man. I feel like you could sing the phone book and make it a single. I have the knowledge to get you far into this show. And I have the connections to help you succeed once it ends.”

“You’re such a seller, Cee Lo,” Christina said.

“I try hard to get the best team,” Cee Lo said. “I think Adam would benefit my team a great deal.”

“I don’t care about you benefiting my team,” Usher said. “I care about you, Adam. And your success as a singer.”

“I care about that too, man,” Cee Lo said. “I also care about winning this shit.”

That startled a laugh out of the audience and Adam.

“Adam, I feel like we’d be mutually beneficial to each other,” Christina said, fighting for his attention. “Your voice sounds like you could do any genre with ease—”

“—except for country,” Usher said. “You shouldn’t be interested in country.”

Adam chuckled. “No problem there.”

Blake pursed his lips.

“And I can transform you into a performer,” Christina continued, smile sharpening during the interruption. “I’ll help you maintain creative control when you venture out in the music industry, which I have no doubt that you will. Genre won’t offer a barrier to you and I don’t want the music industry to take advantage of you. You’re too good for that.”

Adam was genuinely touched in his overwhelmed state. It looked like Christina said exactly what Adam wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. Dang it.

“I’ll be honest, Adam,” Blake began.

“That’s a nice change for you,” Christina teased.

“I never heard that song before,” Blake said. “It happens sometimes. I’m not as familiar with some genres as I’d like to be. But that song, damn I don’t know the original, but your performance suited the song perfectly. I feel like the original would only disappoint me. You made that song your own and it worked beautifully. You made it sound like the song was written specifically for your voice.”

“Quick interjection, if you don’t mind,” Usher said. “Then you can go back to your spiel, Blake.”

“Adam, I think you’re awesome and you should step outside your comfort zone. Take a risk with me,” Blake said. “Just wanted to get that out before Usher stole the attention.”

“So you want me to pick you because we’re so different?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, we have a lot to learn from each other,” Blake said, “and The Voice is all about learning.”

“I said you could get back to your spiel,” Usher said. Blake shrugged. “Why did you pick that song, Adam? It’s not a very popular song. Actually, it was probably one of the most infamous songs in the early 2000s. Your version worked beautifully—don’t get me wrong—but I don’t hear the original and decide that's a song I want to audition with.”

Adam hesitated, gripping his microphone. “I sang it because I wrote it.”

Blake frowned, glancing at his fellow judges. They looked equally befuddled.

“You’re a songwriter?” Blake asked.

“Yeah, now I am,” Adam said. “She Will Be Loved was originally a part of my band’s demo tape. We went to production company after production company, and the only one who seemed interested was...well I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say, honestly...but they weren’t interested in the band. They just wanted the songs. So, after a vote, the band decided to sell the songs and disband and I was hired on as a songwriter. The music studio made some alterations to She Will Be Loved and turned it into the joke it is today. I wanted people to hear what it was supposed to sound like.”

“You mean to tell me that multiple music studios heard you sing and weren’t interested?” Blake gaped. “You’re kidding.”

“Did you vote to separate your band?” Cee Lo asked.

Adam grimaced. “No, but I had to respect the band’s decision.”

“Damn...” Usher said.

“Adam, your voice is amazing,” Blake said. “I feel like if your band’s songs were half as good as She Will Be Loved then you would be sitting with us up here.”

The audience cheered.

“Wow, Blake,” Christina said. “You go big or go home.”

“I’m already a fan of yours,” Blake said. “I support your career no matter who you choose—because I have no doubt after this studios will be fighting to sign you on.”

“Who do you pick, man?” Usher asked.

Adam’s face turned thoughtful as he took in the judges. Blake pointed at himself, hoping the contestant could hear the sincerity in his voice during his pitch. He was done an injustice. He should’ve been signed on years ago—or whenever She Will Be Loved came out. Adam was a prime example that music producers didn’t always know what the fuck they were talking about.

All of the judges felt indignant on Adam’s behalf. Honestly, any judge would be a good coach for him. But the country singer knew Adam was special from the first note. He selfishly wanted to watch the tattooed contestant sing and grow as a performer under his careful guidance. Blake wanted to be able to say that he mentored Adam Levine.

Adam let out a breath, his eyes finding Blake’s. “I choose Blake.”

The audience cheered as Blake pumped his fist into the air. He got off his chair and met Adam halfway down the stage. “We’re going to do great things, rock star.”

Adam’s eyes were bright as he grinned back. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Blake pulled him in for a brief hug. Adam squirmed under his arms. He was so tiny. “Cocky little shit.”

Adam mock-bowed as he scampered down the rest of the stage. Blake turned to the judges with a triumphant “ha” and a smug grin. He sat in his chair with relief. Adam Levine was going far.

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Cee Lo said.

“It’s okay,” Christina said. “I’ll get the next one.”

“There isn’t another singer like Adam,” Blake said.

“Such loyalty already,” Christina said.

Heather signaled for them to be quiet as the next singer was brought out. Blake smiled at Usher, who looked genuinely disappointed. Usher rolled his eyes and smirked at him. Blake was so happy Adam picked him. His mind was already racing with potential song ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 2015_

Blake, despite being different than the country stereotype Adam initially mistook him for, still held some of the earnest, sincere country aspects. So he knew Blake—and the other coaches, for that matter—genuinely supported Adam as a judge and also deemed him qualified enough to be a good mentor. But that didn’t stop Blake from being an asshole.

Within the first few contestants, Adam knew Blake was his biggest threat.

“...yes and you know who helped Adam with that?” Insert finger point here.

“I love your sound. I know I’m just a country singer but I think I have a flair for artists that can succeed on the mainstream radio. What do you think, Adam?”

“I’m not saying Adam wouldn’t have made it that far into The Voice if it weren’t for me...Oh wait yes I am.”

Not that Adam was ever good at just taking abuse.

“Get off your high horse,” Adam called from the other side of the stage. “If I went with my instinct, I would’ve gone with Usher and probably have actually won that season.”

“Your gut instinct was Usher?” Blake asked, sounding wounded even over the audience’s ooohs.

“Really? That’s what you focus on?” Adam said. “Stop looking at me with your big eyes...Ugh. Fine. Usher was my first choice until I was up on the stage and heard your pitch. Happy, you big baby?”

“Yep,” Blake said, turning back to the amused contestant on stage. “So if you really admire Adam, follow in his footsteps and pick me.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I know what it feels like to be up there. I know personally how this competition changes your life. Let me take you down the same path I took—”

“The path I led Adam down,” Blake interjected.

“The path full of musical connections who work with me more and like me better,” Adam said. “Do you know how many artists and producers I’ve written songs with? The exact number is a shit ton. Do yourself a favor and pick me, Rozzie. I wouldn’t have turned my chair around if I didn’t have complete faith in your voice. I know I can do something to help you musically and give you an edge after the competition.”

“Two very eager guys fighting over you,” Gwen said, grinning between the duo. “So who do you pick?”

"Wow." Rozzie brushed her black hair behind her ear. “I’ll be honest, I’m huge fans of both of you. So this is like a dream come true. I have to go with my gut though. I pick Adam.”

“Yes!” Adam cheered, rushing up to meet her and pull her into a hug. “You’re my first artist and I already feel like we can beat this bitch.”

Rozzie laughed. “I’m really glad you’re the fourth judge.”

“Same,” Adam beamed. He clapped as she walked off the stage, turning to grin smugly at Blake. “Wow did you see that? It’s like she knew who the superior coach was.”

“You’re making me miss the days you weren’t such a cocky asshole,” Blake said.

“Liar,” Adam called, sitting back in his chair. Blake grinned.

“She will be spectacular,” Pharrell said. “I instantly regretted not pushing my button for her.”

“I don’t. You did good not turning around,” Adam said. “I can handle Blake. Juggling you and Blake would be tricky...”

“We should’ve had Adam on here sooner,” Gwen said. “I’ve never seen someone shut Blake down so quickly.”

“It’s everything I hoped it would be,” Pharrell said.

“I’m hoping to nab a country singer,” Adam said conversationally.

“Oh cute, rock star,” Blake said. “That’s an area I definitely have more expertise in. Not even you can charm them away.”

“Yes, but that’s also an area I have plenty of experience and connections in, thanks to you,” Adam said.

“You can’t use me as your country connection,” Blake protested.

“That’s literally what your past five arguments have been against me today,” Adam said. “You’ve been using me as a connection for _years_.”

“Quiet on set, guys,” Heather said, red hair pulled into a tiny ponytail.

“Love you, Heather,” Adam called.

“I love you more, Heather,” Blake said.

“Love you too, now shut up.”

 

_September 2000_

Adam’s head pounded, growing louder and louder as he blinked blearily into consciousness. The pounding changed rhythm. Adam frowned at the ceiling, absently rubbing his temples. He hissed as he shifted into the slim bar of sunlight shining through the cracks of his curtains.

“Adam!”

The pounding grew louder again. Adam glared as he slowly focused on the door.  Its noise was unnecessary.

“I’m not going away until you answer the door!”

Adam groaned, pulling his covers over his head. Fucking James. He was a persistent bastard. Adam knew if he didn’t open the door, his roommate would literally knock for hours. His head couldn’t handle that type of abuse. He rolled out of bed, accidentally kicking some empty beer bottles. One ricocheted off his metal bed frame with a clang. The pounding mercifully stopped.

Adam cracked the door open, squinting into the bright light of the rest of the apartment. He glared. A semi-apologetic James stood on the other side.

“So how did it go?” James asked hesitantly, eyes piercing Adam’s half revealed face. Adam’s face twisted into a sneer.

“How do you think?” he snapped, the slurs and lethargic-ness of sleep rapidly wearing off him. “Almatrax remains uninterested. They also conveyed the desire for their songwriter to stop biting off more than he can chew.”

A flash of disappointment went across James’ face. “That’s...not good.”

“Did you know a whiny, nasally voice doesn’t belong on the radio?” Adam asked rhetorically, reliving his humiliating five minute visit to Plaza’s office.  He knew that man could be harsh.  But still. That was the longest five minutes of his entire life. “Or even in a crappy motel elevator?

“What..."

“Apparently,” Adam continued relentlessly, “my way with words is my only redeeming quality. My voice leaves much to be desired. It isn’t unique enough to be anything notable.”

“Oh,” James said, “I thought—”

“What? You could take back your decision?” Adam snarled. “If you had this much faith in my voice and our band, you should’ve sided with me and Jesse.”

“Adam, I told you I was sorry, but at the time—”

“I know, an actual paycheck was more tempting than constant failures. I just thought you were like me. You love making music and wouldn’t relent until...” Adam trailed off, shaking his head and pinching his features in irritation again. “Our chance to play music passed in Plaza’s office.”

“I just thought if a different producer heard your voice, they would realize how much of a mistake they made,” James said hurriedly.

Adam sneered. “Let me lay this down for you. _Maroon 5_ went to every big production company, the executives who know musical talent when they hear it. _Maroon 5_ didn’t peak their interest. The only thing that _did_ peak their interest was our songs. You know what was fucking it up for us? What Plaza so kindly reiterated for me in his office after I fucking took your advice and went over his head to show a different producer my new song? My voice. No one wants to have my voice fuck up a perfectly good song when they can let literally any other _decent_ artist perform it.”

“That’s not true,” James protested. “Your voice is what inspired me to leave my band and join Kara's Flowers. Your voice is special, Adam. Your range—”

“If you thought this, you wouldn’t have agreed to Plaza’s deal,” Adam interrupted. “I don’t fucking want you to talk to me about my voice again. I don’t fucking want to deal with another lecture about how my singing is shit and doesn’t belong in the music industry. I can’t deal with that. Not again.”

James opened his mouth but snapped it shut as soon as the fight fled Adam, leaving him so God damned tired.

“Singing has been my dream since I could talk,” Adam said. “Knowing some of the top music producers remain extremely unimpressed and belligerently uninterested...It hurts to know your dream is fucked. All the dreaming in the world can’t change what you sound like.”

“Fuck Almatrax, you can—”

“Can what, James? Fucking go to another music studio? Right, if the company known for taking risks on new artists—Almatrix and Plaza specifically, in case your fairy tale idea made you forget—says no, what are the chances of others wanting to back me? Back us? Just drop it.”

“I agreed to Plaza’s deal because I thought selling those songs would help our reputation,” James said. “I had no idea it would destroy your confidence, make you doubt your talent.”

“Fuck off, James,” Adam said wearily.

“I am not going to let you lead a miserable life,” James snapped.

“Yeah well you fucking pushed me down this path,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t think I jumped on chances to be a singer when I first started? Do you have any idea how many collaborations I contribute to? How many other producers and legitimate singers heard my voice? You know what they did? Not a fucking thing.”

“They don’t know—”

“They know _exactly_ what they’re talking about,” Adam interrupted. “They’re either successful as shit or know when to back a talented artist. You don’t think they know what to listen for?”

James pursed his lips.

“Look, I love writing music, okay? I’m good at it." Adam sighed, running a hand through his bed head. "I’m not going to be miserable with my new career. Really, my dream just got more realistic. It's fine. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“I want you to be more than fine.”

“Do me a favor and either fuck off or drop it and eat breakfast with me,” Adam said tiredly. James was persistent as hell. But Adam would like to think he was more stubborn.

James hesitated, mental arguments flashing behind his eyes. He studied Adam through the cracked door. He sighed. “It’s 3 in the afternoon.”

“Belated breakfast then,” Adam said, feeling a slight weight ease off his shoulder and a wave of disappointment course through him. He shook his head, attempting to get rid of his conflicted feelings. James did what Adam wanted, or at least requested.

“Gonna do something with that hair?” James asked, attempting to infuse a little normalcy into their situation. “You might scare the actual civilized members of society.”

“Ah you forget the beauty of a beanie,” Adam said sagely.

James snorted. “Come on, let’s pick up some of the guys and go to Dennys.”

“That’s the first constructive thing you’ve said today,” Adam said, closing his door to James’ potential retort.

 

_May 2011_

Adam was out of his depth. Cowboy boots and hats surrounded him as soon as he entered The Voice’s lounge. He knew Blake Shelton was a country singer—ok, that was the only thing he knew about Blake before his Voice audition—but damn did he really have to fill his team with mostly country artists?

He spotted maybe six other people on Blake’s team that didn’t scream country singer. They intermingled with the cowboy boots, clearly not sharing Adam’s desire to cluster together. He grabbed a cold beer from a nearby table as he weaved his way to the platter of bagels, smiling whenever he made eye contact—strangers smiled more down south, right? Of course, these people were his teammates not strangers. Not that their success meant much strategically for him. The first round of The Voice was the Battle Round, which pitted team members against one another.  So not really a good team building exercise.

“I’ve been singing since I was five,” a woman with thick, curly hair said loudly from across the room.

A blonde guy next to her pushed up his sunglasses—which, what the fuck, they were indoors—with a sneer. “I’ve been in local plays since I was seven. I didn’t sing seriously until I was twelve.”

“Oh local plays? That’s cute, Patrick. I was on an off Broadway play in sixth grade,” the curly haired woman retorted.

“How long has the dick measuring contest been going?” Adam asked. Someone nearby snorted.

“Glad to see you still have your tact,” a deep voice said. “And it’s lasted about ten minutes.”

Adam turned and grinned. “Jermaine! What are you doing creeping in a corner? Very Jack the Ripper.”

“What’s up, Adam,” Jermaine greeted, pulling Adam into a loose one-armed hug, even though they weren't usually those type of acquantices—Adam hesistated in even declaring them friends—but in a sea of strangers, any familiar face was welcome. “I didn’t know you were auditioning.”

“Same actually,” Adam said.

Jermaine raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess: James.”

“Who else is conniving and stubborn enough?” Adam asked. “He’s been my most vocal singing cheerleader for years now. I think it’s just because he feels guilty.”

“Why?” Jermaine asked nonchalantly, sipping a beer bottle. For as long as Adam and Jermaine have known each other, their conversations never veered toward anything even close to personal.

Adam forced a casual shrug. “I was pissed years ago about something and he was the easiest target for me to unleash my anger on. And James is enough of a martyr that he believed me.”

“Ah,” Jermaine hummed. “Bagel?”

“This is what I like about you,” Adam said. “You just say the necessary. You don’t ramble on and on. Two people like that are excessive in any setting. So when did you decide to audition? I thought you were happy with Alicia?”

“I thought you were happy as a songwriter,” Jermaine challenged.

“Well we’re both ambitious bastards,” Adam said to Jermaine’s loud laugh. “So who’s really surprised that we ended up here?”

“Y’all know each other?” a nearby cowboy hat asked.

Adam nodded, glancing at Jermaine to see if he wanted Adam to censor anything. Jermaine shrugged. “Yeah, we worked together before.”

“Really?” the cowboy hat's loud drawl attracted other cowboy, and one cowgirl, hats' attention.

“Adam writes songs in the same music production company that Alicia Keys has a contract with,” Jermaine said. “I’m Alicia Keys’ backup singer so we bump into each other quite a bit.”

“Damn. That’s impressive,” cowboy hat murmured. “Y’all know so many people.”

“Not the right people since they’re here,” a nearby cowgirl with pigtails said.

“We’re all on square one,” Adam agreed. “Well partially.”

“Partially?” cowboy hat asked.

Adam nodded fugitively, making a show of looking around. “I’m a tad outnumbered,” he stage-whispered, gesturing to all the country gear.

Cowboy hat snorted. “You just need to blend in. Start small: wear flannel.”

“I do have a flannel shirt,” Adam said thoughtfully.

“I have a striped shirt,” Jermaine offered.

“Not the same as flannel,” cowboy hat said, pushing said hat out of his eyes. Adam wasn’t sure if they dressed obnoxiously country to appeal to Blake or if they were always naturally southern.

“Stripes is like city flannel,” Adam said.

“Flannel?” pigtail cowgirl repeated. “That’s the country stereotype you pick? Nah they should just learn banjo. It shows more effort.”

“I do know how to play banjo, actually,” Adam said. “Haven’t played it in a couple years, but a rusty banjo is better than no banjo.”

“Depends on the song,” pigtail cowgirl countered.

“Maybe we should put all non-country singers in an old pickup truck,” a different cowboy hat said. Damn everyone should really have name tags, especially since they essentially dressed the same. “Or on a stallion.”

“I’ve passed a cow farm riding shotgun in a semi-truck,” Adam said. “Does that count?”

“You’re such a city boy, rock star,” Blake said, entering the room with little flare, but his naturally booming voice quickly caught his team's attention.

Adam shrugged. “Side effect of being born and raised in LA.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t dead in a ditch from all the smog and gangs,” Blake teased.

“These tattoos make me look tougher than I am. They give off a cutthroat city attitude,” Adam answered. He lifted his arm to show off his tiger tattoo. “The big ones repel all potentially dangerous people.”

“That explains a lot,” Blake said.

“I have a very strategic mind,” Adam agreed. “I play at my strengths.”

“Good to know you didn’t just ink yourself for the hell of it,” Blake said, taking a sip of beer. “That’s almost too rock and roll for you.”

“Of course not,” Adam said. “That’s probably irresponsible. Every rock star’s first priority is being a respectable role model for children.”

Blake snorted, turning after he apparently grew aware of his team’s obvious stares. “How y’all doing?”

Choruses of “Howdys” and “Golly Gees” filled the air.

Not really, but Adam liked his version better.

“I’m really happy with each and every one of you,” Blake said, gazing around the room. “Y’all bring something unique to the table. I pushed my button for each of you because I have faith in you. I know y’all can find success in not just The Voice, but the industry, which I know is everyone’s ultimate goal. But, until then, I want us to make each other better. Now, I know the Battle Round will severely diminish our ranks, but those start a week from now. From now until then I don’t want to do anything but practice and help y’all with whatever music or personal concern you have.”

“Do we get to pick our song?” the woman half of the dick measuring contest asked.

“I’ve already picked your partners and song,” Blake said. “I’m gonna partner y’all up before we continue our little meet and greet.”

Adam watched the pairings unfold in front of him. He wondered about the logic behind Blake’s pairings. Adam didn’t know enough about his teammates to know who had what competitive advantage. Did Blake make a pairing with one obvious winner? Or did he pair similar artists and let one come out on top?

“Adam,” Blake interrupted his thoughts, “and Tabetha.”

Adam glanced to the other singer. The woman half of the dick measuring contest smirked back at him, baring her teeth.

Blake’s face broke out into a grin. “Now let’s get this party started.”

 

* * *

 

Tabetha’s ambitious glaring front melted in front of Blake. She was all fucking giggles and modesty then. Adam rolled his eyes the first time, but five days of forced, constant interactions later he was pissed. Tabetha was the definition of a two-faced bitch. She threatened and insulted Adam as soon as Blake turned his back. Which Adam responded to in kind—he never claimed to be the bigger person—but, shit, she needed to calm down. It was literally round one.

Adam could tolerate Tabetha, even when she went personal. She pissed him off, but he could tolerate. Even after she learned how to Google.

Her first jabs were easily deflected.

“Wow, Kara’s Flowers failed insanely quick,” Tabetha said, as soon as Blake left the room.

“We were 19,” Adam retorted. “What were you doing? Singing at the Prom? Yeah that’s so much better experience than actually touring.”

“What the fuck is Maroon 5?”

“No one,” Adam said honestly. Tabetha just looked annoyed.

Really all her specific barbs bounced off without actual damage. It was her general insults that slowly drilled through Adam’s mind. They were too reminiscent of what he heard over the years.

“You sound like a girl.”

“Damn a bit sharp there. Or was that just your natural whine?”

“If you win, I’ll shoot myself. Because that’ll just prove America’s lowering music standard.”

“Holy shit my ears are still ringing. How can you still hear with your screeching?”

"It's kind of cute when you try. It's like you think you have a chance."

Fuck, he shouldn’t let her plant these seeds of doubt. He knew why she was doing it. Psyching other people out seemed to be her forte. But—a serendipity for her—all her comments starkly reminded him of past criticism Almatrax gave him over the years. For a company that claimed to love music, they were very eager to smother any expressed musical ambition they didn't authorize. Of course, Almatrax's commentary always seemed glowing next to Adam's own mental tirade.

Adam told himself to buck up and ignore her. But after running through one of their daily rehearsals of Fighter—as in by Christina Aguilera, as in one of the judges who will sit ten feet from them as they duke it out on stage—Adam looked up to Blake’s frown and Tabetha’s badly smothered glee.

“You okay there, Adam?” Blake asked.

Adam swallowed, glancing at a nearby camera. He hit all the notes. He was 93% positive he did. “Yep.”

Blake studied him. “Alright...Tabetha, you sounded great, but you need a bit more vocal control, especially when you reach the chorus. You’re letting your voice get away from you a bit. Adam, your pitch was spot on, but your performance lacked...”

“Emotion? Power?” Tabetha suggested with an innocent expression.

Adam threw her a dirty look.

“Attitude,” Blake said, “and energy. I loved your audition because you owned your song. But I’m getting none of that from this rehearsal.”

Adam swallowed, but nodded. Right, something else to add to the long list of critiques of his voice.

“I’ll see y’all tomorrow,” Blake dismissed.

“See you then, Blake,” Tabetha said bubbly. Adam wondered if she thought anyone was actually fooled by her two-faced persona.

“Adam, wait a sec, would you?” Blake asked. “We need to talk...alone.”

Adam attempted to relax his tense body as the camera crew nodded without complaint and filed out of the door.

“It’s funny, I usually get in trouble for having too much attitude,” Adam said.

“I can see that,” Blake said. “I bet teachers loved you.”

“Oh yeah,” Adam said. Or King of Misdirect as he should be dubbed. “The principal, especially. I’m just lucky I got my attitude from Mom or else I would’ve been suspended so many times.”

“She sounds like a great woman.”

“She’s a fan of making an entrance, let me tell you, because one—”

“Adam,” Blake interrupted. Damn. “I know what you’re doing.”

Adam frowned comically. “Trying to get to know my coach?”

“Do you want to tell me why you were off today or do I have to keep us here overnight?” Blake challenged.

“Sleepover? Fun,” Adam said. “Even if it does show a slight bias.”

The corner of Blake’s mouth twitched. “What happened?”

“Everyone is allowed an off day.”

“They are,” Blake agreed. “But your practice sessions are getting worse and worse as the week progresses. The trend usually goes in the other direction.”

Adam pursed his lips. Well, shit. “I don’t know what you expect me to say to that.”

“Tell me why you’re losing your passion,” Blake urged. “Tell me why you sound defeated already. Tabetha is talented but so are you.”

“I’m not getting worse because of _Tabetha_ ,” Adam snapped.

“So you acknowledge you’re getting worse,” Blake said triumphantly. “Why?”

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I feel like this is inevitable. My audition was probably a fluke.”

Blake blinked, jerking his head back. “I’ve heard your audition tapes. I heard you when you first performed Fighter. Trust me, your audition was _not_ a fluke. You’re a fantastic singer. How can you be so self-deprecating?”

“I’m just realistic,” Adam said flippantly.

Blake’s face darkened. Adam refused to take a step back even when as his pulse quickened. This was the first time he had seen Blake as anything other than even-tempered and prone to laughing. “Who told you that?”

“What?" Adam asked. "Like it’s a secret?”

“Why would anyone tell you your voice is anything other than hypnotizing and mind-blowing?” Blake asked.

“You literally have to say that,” Adam dismissed. “You’re my coach. You want high morale all around.”

“I don’t 'literally have to say that,' ” Blake said. “Damn it, Adam...I’m telling you this because apparently someone has brainwashed you into thinking your voice is a noise that deserves no more attention than a bee.”

“What? My voice is small and incessant now?”

Blake threw him an unimpressed look. “Someone—I’m assuming that music studio you work for—screwed you over. Worse, they made you question your own gift.”

Adam picked at the fraying hem of his shirt. “You sound like James and Jesse.”

“They sound like smart guys,” Blake said. “You should take a page out of their book.”

“Listen, Blake,” Adam said, “when Maroon 5 was trying to get picked up, every big studio rejected us. You know what a common compliment was? The lyrics and music. Not a whole lot else makes up a song besides the singer's voice. My voice is what stopped the band from being actually successful.”

“You can’t honestly believe that,” Blake said.

“I can honestly believe it,” Adam snapped. “My voice was the common denominator for rejection. That’s not an opinion. It’s a fact. Without Almatrax, our ‘starving musician’ title would’ve turned more literal.”

“Then why did you audition for The Voice?” Blake asked, his question piercing through the air like a spear.

Adam hesitated. “I didn’t send in those tapes, that was James.”

“If you honestly thought your voice was shit, you wouldn’t have come even after The Voice accepted you into the blind auditions.”

Adam tore his eyes away from Blake’s face. “I wanted people to hear She Will Be Loved. The original.”

“And you did that,” Blake said carefully. “If that was your only motivation, you know what that tells me?”

Adam shrugged.

“Your music is dear to you,” Blake said. “And you want your music to affect others the same way it affects you.”

“That’s putting unnecessary depth to it,” Adam said.

“Is it?” Blake said. “Clearly you wanted to be a musician for most of your life. You were in a band all through high school. You got signed on at 19 as Kara’s Flowers. You even toured for a bit.  And did you let Kara’s Flowers’ failure affect your love of music? No. You returned to the music industry rebranded and with a new sound.”

“And what a load of help that did.”

“Just think back to that spark,” Blake implored earnestly, sliding his chair in front of Adam’s line of sight. “That fire that made you want to be a musician. The fire that produces your music.”

Adam clamped his mouth shut.

“The fact that you stayed at the very scene of the crime that killed your dream shows me that you’re obsessed with music. That you’ll jump at any chance to be a part of the music industry,” Blake continued. “Music controls your life. She’s a needy bitch and you love her for it. Just like me. Just like every other professional musician.”

Adam remained silent.

Blake gave a small smile. “Just remember your spark and use it to fuel your performance. And remember that you can call me whenever you want. Day or night.”

He nodded slowly.  Blake patted his knee before getting up and closing the door with a soft click as he exited the room. Adam stared down at his hands. Had he really stopped being genuinely excited about music?

 

* * *

 

Adam did what he usually did when he was lost in his own head. He turned to music. He left the rehearsal space a little after Blake left. Adam wandered until he came across a room full of miscellaneous instruments. He sat on a seat next to the drum set. His fingers itched as he looked around for some drum sticks. This room was literally full of instruments. Two thin wooden sticks shouldn’t be an impossible favor.

He glanced down at the drum set. It was a beauty really. Everything was gleaming, worn in all the right spots. Clearly it was a well-used instrument. His foot started hitting the bass drum petal out of habit.

He used to live for the thrill of performing, of playing a song live. Nothing could beat the pressure and potential harassment of a live crowd. The adrenaline that always rushed through him, no matter the crowd size. He loved entertaining a crowd.  They were so hard to please. Their fickleness could make or break a concert. And he had been on both sides: the extreme cheering and the harsh booing. The crowd’s excitement fueld his excitement. Boos got him flustered, but he always—or used to anyway—manifested the boos into a challenge to win the crowd back. But that predicament clearly stopped as soon as he became a songwriter.

Adam snagged nearby pencils, making due with the lack of drumsticks. He started playing a random beat. But did songwriting take away his love of music? He thought back to all the long nights spent in a recording studio, the hours spent strumming the same tune until the next verse came, the pages and pages of unused and scratched out lyrics. A wiry grin crossed his face. There was no way he could get a grain of elation from that without an intense love of music. Or else he would’ve gone back to Johnny Rockets within the first three months of songwriting at Almatrax.

He speed up to a more upbeat rhythm. Why did he let his voice grow weaker as the week wore on? Fighter was a great song, Adam loved music, and Tabetha was a constant needle in his side. That was stellar motivation to beat her.

He doubled the speed of the bass drum, feeling sweat begin to gather on his forehead. He smirked. All instruments were great, but drums had to be his favorite.

A tap on his back a few minutes later made Adam fumble with one pencil and send the other flying. He turned around with a sheepish grin at a man with a cocked eyebrow and floppy brown hair.

“What are you doing?” the man asked. He wasn’t irritated but he stared at the pencils in disapproval. 

“Sorry, dude are these your drums?” Adam asked, casually pocketing the remaining pencil. “I didn’t even think to ask. I needed to clear my head and I came across this room, saw this beauty, and got excited.”

The man studied Adam for a second before his frown lightened. “Well, technically these belong to NBC, but I’m The Voice’s main drummer.”

“Really? Awesome,” Adam said.

“Yeah, I thought you were Theo when I first heard you,” the drummer said. “He just got hired as our extra drummer and he’s been gunning for my spot since the Blinds.”

“Sounds dramatic,” Adam said.

The drummer shrugged. “It’s a combination of show biz and the music industry. Are you really surprised?”

Adam snorted. “The only thing that would make it worse was if this was America’s Next Top Model.”

“Oh God,” the drummer groaned. “The hormones.”

“I think models are the most competitive,” Adam said. “They try to hide it, but they are.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” the drummer asked.

“Oh yeah loads,” Adam said. “I have been watching Tyra Banks and Heidi’s shows for years now.”

The drummer snorted. “That does make you practically an expert.”

“Someone has to make that sacrifice,” Adam said, staring off in the distance. “I am the only one noble enough in my friend group.”

“Maybe you need new friends,” the drummer said. “Someone to ease that burden off your shoulders.”

“My friends are awful, aren’t they?” Adam mused. “I am emotionally abused.”

“You do sound traumatized,” the drummer agreed.

“Exactly! I use music as therapy. See? Can you really get made at a victim for using your drums without permission? I think not.”

“You did sound pretty sick on the drums,” the drummer said. “I was impressed, and kind of pissed someone was using my drums, but I'm mostly impressed now that I’m talking to you.”

“Just imagine what I’d sound like with drumsticks,” Adam said mystically.

“That can be arranged,” the drummer said, pulling drumsticks out of seemingly thin air. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Adam,” Adam greeting, snatching the drumsticks. “Ready to rock this bitch?”

Matt pulled out a nearby guitar with a grin. “Show me what you got, Adam.”

 

_September 2011_

“Hello?” Adam said into his cell phone. His service had been crappy ever since The Voice tour arrived in Tennessee. Nothing against the state specifically but Adam blamed the mountains for his shitty coverage.

A dramatic gasp came from the other end. _“Adam? You remember who I am? Or has touring changed you that much?”_

Adam rolled his eyes, nodding to Jermaine as he passed him heading to the tour bus. “I’m sorry, Forest Gump, I think you have the wrong number.”

 _“Life is like a box of chocolates,”_ Blake said. _“So one is bound to be poisonous and end up on your pillow.”_

“Blake, no one eats unwrapped chocolates on their pillows. Even us city folk have standards and a sense of self-preservation,” Adam said.

_“I could’ve planned ahead and had the poisoned chocolate packaged.”_

“I suppose...”

_“If I was going through all the effort to poison you, I feel like paying a little extra fot that detail would be worthwhile.”_

“I can’t poke too many holes in your logic,” Adam said. “Don’t want to annoy you before my hypothetical death.”

_“Murder, Adam, it’s murder. Don’t demean my planning and final objective.”_

“Right, clearly I was out of line.”

_“Your apology  almost makes up for your blatant disrespect."_

Adam rolled his eyes. Again. That was almost impressive on Blake's part. “So did you call just to hear my beautiful voice or...”

_“I always call to hear your beautiful voice so I don’t miss you so much.”_

“Funny how you act like this isn’t the first time we’ve been separated for a long time since we met.”

_“We were separated for about thirty years. That’s a pretty hefty amount of time.”_

“I said _since we met_ , Blake.”

_“We probably met in spirit when you were born.”_

“That is a surprisingly zin statement from such a big ass, motherfucking hick.”

_“I would never fuck my mother. That’s sick even for a city boy.”_

“Eww,” Adam scrunched his nose. “Don’t give me that mental image.”

_“That mental image is your fault.”_

“It is not, you sick pervert!”

_“If you’re going to be such a disruptive pain in my ass, I don’t know if I want you opening for me.”_

“Literally no one is serious when they say motherf—wait _opening_? What?”

_“Thought that’d get your attention.”_

“Stop sounding so smug,” Adam said. “Explain.”

_“Well, opening is what one artist or band does before another artist or band’s concert. The opening act warms up the crowd, making the more important act—me, in case you were confused—have a friendly, relaxed crowd prepared to enjoy the main event.”_

Only Blake could make irritation tinge his elation. It was a gift. “You know what I meant, dipshit.”

_“Everyone doesn’t believe me when I say you’re the mean one.”_

“I can hear you pouting through the phone, Blake. You’re about as threatening as a teddy bear. I doubt anyone would argue with you if you said I was the mean one.”

_“Good point. I think it’s your tattoos and cussing.”_

“I do what I can to make you look better.”

_“Including opening for me?”_

Adam hesitated. “Just...Am I the best choice?”

_“Adam, I wouldn’t want anyone else with me.”_

Adam flushed. “But we don’t exactly play the same types of music. All your other openers are country. _You’re_ a country artist too unless that’s escaped your notice. And I’m...well I’m not. I feel like I’m the opposite of country.”

_“No, the opposite of country is opera.”_

“How do you figure?”

_“...I don’t like opera.”_

"You are the voice of all country music,” Adam mocked.

_“Name five other country singers.”_

“Miranda Lambert, Luke Bryan, Brad Paisley, Kelly Clarkson, and Carrie Underwood.”

_“You can’t just list people from my phone contacts.”_

“Why not? I’ve already met like two of them.”

_“Because it’s cheating, Adam.”_

“It’s not like I named some obscure country singer. I feel like everyone knows who I listed.”

_“Hmph. Well there is a way for you to meet more country singers.”_

“Let me guess: touring with you?”

_“And we have a winner! Nice to know you don’t just rely on your looks for everything.”_

“I just...”

_“Adam, the only one stopping this from happening is you.”_

Adam bit his lip. Blake was, once again, offering the chance of a lifetime and wasn’t deterred when Adam was a hesitant, insecure prick. Damn, he owed Blake so much. Blake was so patient. He grinned thinking of reuniting with his coach so soon and, double plus, touring around the United States. Honestly, he forgot how at home he felt on the road until The Voice tour. it was unreal. Add Blake into the mixture...Why was he even hesitating? “How many songs would we have to perform? You know the band only technically has one song.”

_“Yes and Maroon 5’s first single is being released this week. Great timing all around...You’ll probably need about four or five songs when you open.”_

“So mostly covers?" Adam mused. "Should I do country songs? Because your fans are definitely country fans and I’m—”

_“Don’t be something you’re not. I think you should cover some songs you’ve written over the years. Just pick your favorites. Change the playlist at each venue if you want, even though I recommend playing Sunday Morning every time. New single and all...”_

“Alright,” Adam murmured, his head already thrumming with potential playlists. He’d have to discuss this with the guys.

_“So is this a yes?”_

Adam grinned. “Of course it’s a yes. I’d have to be a moron to say no.”

_“You’re not a moron?”_

“Oh ha ha. Blake, you’re so funny. Please stop. I can barely contain my laughter.”

_“I have that effect on people.”_

Adam snorted. “Hey, listen, thanks for—”

_“If you thank me one more time for anything, I’m coming through this phone and smacking you.”_

“That’d be an impressive trick,” Adam said, “and none of my thanks has been for—”

_“Adam, shut your trap.”_

“Asking me to open for you is kind of a big deal, Blake! Thanking you is literally the least I could do.”

_“You know all I want you to do is give Almatrax the middle finger and top all the Billboard’s Top 100 charts.”_

“You’re such a cheerleader,” Adam said fondly, “and you’re getting an obnoxiously expensive Christmas present, just FYI.”

_“But you’re Jewish.”_

“It’s the principle of things, Blake,” Adam said. “You’re getting an obnoxiously expensive present at the next gift-giving holiday, ok?”

_“Fine, fine. The sacrifices I make...”_

“You’re a martyr.”

_“I’m glad you finally understand. Now my tour starts next month so you’ll have to leave The Voice tour early.”_

“Going from touring to touring,” Adam mused. “I could get used to this.”

_“There’s the cocky bastard I know. I’ll see you in a month, rock star!”_

 

_May 2011_

Battle Rounds have always been stressful. Blake felt like the tense silence by the red chairs was a good sign of that. The country singer was never thrilled with the concept—cutting his newly acquired team in half—but the practice...It was unsurprisingly more brutal. Yes, he (probably technically cheating, honestly) discussed with Miranda, his guest advisor this week, who she thought was the stronger performer. He and Miranda critiqued and gushed over the different singers long into the night, but, much to his annoyance, she never revealed her preferance. She wanted him to remain uninfluenced.

Such a vexing woman.

Blake already had to say good-bye to two members of his team tonight. The thing was he knew that whoever he sent home, he would want to keep on The Voice. After all their struggles to make it onto the show, it was such a pity to get rid of all that talent after just a week.

“Welcome back to The Voice!” Carson said to the camera. “Our next battle will be Team Blake's Adam Levine and Tabetha Christian singing Fighter. But first, let’s see how their rehearsals went.”

Blake pursed his lips at the mini montage of Adam and Tabetha’s rehearsals. It was hard to tell if Adam took his advice to heart. Blake did talk to him one-on-one about two days before the performance. Honestly, he had no idea if what he said was actually helpful. Blake constantly doubted his ability to be a decent coach. What qualified him to give them advice? He was always afraid he’d lead his team members down the wrong path and ruin their chances. He usually limited those thoughts to just the competition, but there were many nights when he laid awake fretful and certain that he screwed up their entire music career.

Right now, he saw Tabetha coming out on top, which was a shame because Adam had so much potential. Tabetha was currently the only one living up to his expectations. She was a strong singer, it was part of the reason he chose Christina’s song as the Battle song. But he couldn’t deny the small part of him that waited for Adam to blow him out of the water.

Blake cleared his head as soon as Tabetha and Adam entered the arena. Tabetha wore a short, silver dress, her curly hair tamed into some up-do Taylor, the hair stylist, describe to Blake. Half the shit Taylor told Blake was to make him confused, he was sure of it. Adam stopped on the left side of the arena, microphone in hand. His black skinny jeans and white shirt looked simple next to Tabetha but it suited him.

The country singer briefly closed his eyes. Alright, he was going to forget all past rehearsals and songs Adam and Tabetha performed. He would only concentrate on the present. Only the objectively better performer would move on. Blake refused to allow any of his bias to affect his decision. He couldn’t have his personal feelings messing up someone’s future. That wasn’t fair.

His team members began like they did in every rehearsal, Tabetha and Adam trading off every other spoken line and Adam falling to background while Tabetha took over the first verse. Blake nodded, concentrating as her voice hit all the right notes. They both sang the chorus, circling around each other. He watched as Tabetha and Adam moved around the stage, before doing a double take at Adam.

During rehearsals, Adam had moved around a bit stiffly, clearly unused to performing without holding a guitar or some other instrument. But that awkwardness fell away as Adam confidentially swept across the stage. When he took over the second verse, Blake felt a smile break out on his face. This, _this_ was what Blake wanted from Adam. It was exactly what Blake expected when he picked this song: to be completely in awe by Adam’s rendition.

Adam commanded the stage the rest of the performance. Blake stood up cheering when Tabetha and Adam took their final bow. He gushed over both singers, giving them both some minor critiques—honestly, they were both solid performances there were hardly any criticisms—but Blake felt like the entire studio knew who was moving on. Everyone except for one.

Blake eyed the fidgeting man in front of him.

“...I have to go with Adam.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the belated chapter! I'd like to give a shout out to Partsmaster for inspiring me to finally finish the chapter :) Have fun on your vacation!  
> I hope everyone enjoys!

_May 2015_

“And I heard your little shout out,” Gwen finished. “So let me just assure you the feeling is very mutual.”

The pale, lanky contestant, Dean, beamed at the blonde, the red bandana around his neck flouncing with his head bobs. “I was hoping you’d catch that.”

“Shout out?” Pharrell asked, momentarily shifting his focus away Dean to frown at his friend. Pharrell, Gwen, and Adam’s runways gleamed the telltale white, all the superstars wanting the R&B singer on their team.

“Yeah,” Gwen said, composing herself for a moment to mimic Dean. “ _And now over here we have Pharrell and Gwen_...”

“ _And Adam_ ,” Adam sang. The audience laughed.

Dean looked momentarily taken aback before grinning. “Oh yeah, it was implied.”

“ _And definitely not Blake_ ,” Adam continued. He took a breath and looked up at Dean. “You said their names in the song. How am I supposed to compete now?”

“That song came from an era where Beyoncé mastered that rapid fire, R&B lyrics,” Pharrell said. “It requires a lot of breath control and confidence to do it well. And you did it almost effortlessly.”

“Yeah, it was really a testament to you as a performer that you weren’t out of breath,” Adam commended. “Because I turned my chair around and you were bouncing around the stage. You’re a phenomenal singer. I would be so _so_ grateful and thrilled to work with you.”

“Now y’all are making things super difficult,” Dean said. “You see, Adam, my only concern is that you’re just too attractive so I won’t be able to pay attention.”

The audience hooted as Adam put his The Voice notebook in front of his face, not quite covering his smirk. Blake stood up and clapped. “Thank you for understanding my struggle, Dean. It’s so hard working next to such a dreamboat.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m only human.”

“Aren’t we all,” Blake said. “So, Dean, who do you choose as your coach?”

Dean bit his lip, staring at the three coaches. “I pick Pharrell.”

Pharrell grinned, quickly escaping his chair to meet Dean halfway. The shorter man pulled Dean into a brief hug.

“You’re breaking my heart!” Adam yelled over the cheers. He gave Dean a thumbs up when he turned back towards the coaches’ chairs.

“I’ll be honest,” Gwen said, as Dean left the stage, “I was kind of hoping he’d pick Adam.”

“I’m not even mad,” Adam said, smirking and putting his hands behind his head. “I think we should call it a day.”

Pharrell chuckled. “I was worried he’d pick you for a second.”

“Nah, man, he gave you a shout out,” Adam said. “My face is only so powerful.”

“I think he had flashbacks of when you bleached your hair so he picked Pharrell,” Blake said.

“Thank you, Blake for being that solid rock, that constant thorn in my side,” Adam said.

“Quiet on set.”

“How often do you say that, Heather?” Adam mused.

“Too often.”

Adam closed his eyes, waiting for the next singer. He couldn’t even hear them approach the microphone stand, but their voice soon echoed across the stage. His tone was so silky and smooth. It reminded him of Frank Sinatra, which wasn’t a comparison Adam gave out lightly. Adam pressed his button, whirling around to see a stout man with a full lumberjack beard. Beard brothers. Yep, he was definitely going to try and establish a beard bond with him. Adam barely registered Blake turning around as well. Damn, he was constantly impressed with the wide variety of singers and talent The Voice comes across. This singer was completely different than Dean, but Adam wanted him just as badly.

Everyone clapped as the singer let out the last note.

“Dude, you were great,” Adam gushed. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Randy Miller,” the singer said.

“When I first heard your voice, I was so enraptured,” Adam said. “Your vocal control and tone are amazing. Honestly, you reminded me of Sinatra. So I had to press my button.”

“Wow, thanks,” Randy said, his eyes flickering to Blake.

“I know people look at me and think my only specialty is country singers,” Blake said, “but I just turn around for talented vocalists, no matter what genre. I’m already a fan of yours, Randy.”

“I’m a bigger fan,” Adam insisted. “I _did_ turn around first.”

“I’m probably the biggest fan you’ll ever get,” Blake said.

“Lies!”

“Where I come from, we’re taught—”

“Oh don’t pull out the ‘Aww shucks, I’m just an honest country man’ card,” Adam interrupted.

“But I am just an honest country man.”

 Adam scoffed.

“If I act any differently it’s because of an obnoxious outside source,” Blake said, smirking.

“Typical Shelton,” Adam tsked. “Not owning up to his less savory qualities.”

“All my qualities are savory,” Blake said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Um, guys?” Randy said.

Gwen snorted. “Way to forget the talent, guys.”

“Yes, my main man,” Adam said.

“I already know who I’m going to pick,” Randy said. Adam snorted to himself. Here he and Blake were dicking around and the contestant was just awkwardly waiting for them to finish.

“I just want you to be aware that I wasn’t finished with my spiel yet,” Blake said.

“Blake, don’t ruin it. He might actually have decided to pick you,” Adam said.

“I do pick Blake,” Randy said.

“Oh well that was announced with much less flair than usual,” Adam said, beginning to clap.

“Smart choice, Randy!” Blake said. He lurched up to meet Randy halfway. “Did you just come on with me as your first choice?”

“Uh...not exactly,” Randy trailed off, glancing uncomfortably at Adam. He wondered if it was too late to pray that Blake dozed off for the last few seconds and missed that. Blake was unnecessarily defensive over any perceived slight to Adam.

No luck. Blake frowned, his pinched expression hardening. “What do you mean?”

“Um...” Randy hesitated, awkwardly lingering next to the microphone stand.

“Since when do we interrogate the contestants?” Adam asked jovially.

Blake didn’t react. “I just want to know my team better.”

“Well, don’t make him regret his decision so soon,” Adam said. Damn it Blake. Don’t cause a scene.

“I came in with the mindset that I didn’t want Adam as a coach,” Randy said in a rush. “It’s nothing personal. I just—”

Blake laughed darkly, easily talking over the audience’s boos. “How is that not personal?”

“Blake, it’s not a big deal,” Adam said. “It’s has nothing to do with you. It’s just a personal preference.”

“Care to explain, Randy?” Blake asked. “I’ve never made it a secret how protective I am over people I care about.”

Randy grew impossibly paler on the stage. Adam glanced back at Heather. Heather’s impulse to yell at Blake to stop warred with her show business primal urge to capture tomorrow’s headline.

“Adam is one of the hardest workers I know,” Blake said, “and a damn great vocalist.”

“I’m not picking him because of something like that!” Randy protested. “I’m a huge fan of Adam’s.”

“Then why—”

"I just don't think he has as much experience as the rest of you," Randy blurted.

"That's the stupidest—"

“Damn it, Blake, shut up,” Adam interrupted. “Randy has the opinion of most people. I _haven't_  been singing as long as you, Gwen, and Pharrell. It's a reasonable concern.”

“You’ve been in the music industry since 2000,” Blake interjected. “Just behind the scenes.”

“This isn’t about me, Blake. This is about Randy. He doesn’t want me as a coach. This is not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. Besides,” Adam said, forcibly easing into a more joking tone as he flicked a grin at Randy. The Voice didn’t need extra drama. Randy definitely didn’t deserve it, “he can regret his choice when my team wins.”

Adam started clapping, soon causing the entire studio to follow suit and clap as Randy was ushered belatedly offstage.  Randy and Blake stiffly shook hands when Randy passed. The doors barely swung shut behind the singer when Adam trudged across stage and loomed over Blake in his chair.

“You’re not going to fucking hold this over Randy’s head,” Adam said lowly.

Blake scoffed, not meeting his eyes.  “I’m not in elementary school, Adam. I know how to take personal bias out of a decision.”

“Really?” Adam cocked an eyebrow, pretending the coaches, crew, and the entire damn studio weren’t trying to listen. Of course, Pharrell and Gwen didn't even attempt subtlety, watching the duo with open concern. “I know how petty you can get when you’re pissed, Shelton. Don’t take it out on some honest sap who's not scared silent whenever you get pissy.”

“I don’t like people demeaning you,” Blake said quietly.

“I’ll be honest, Big Country,” Adam said, “not being picked as a coach isn’t the biggest insult I’ve ever received.”

Blake turned his impossibly big eyes on Adam. The Maroon 5 singer felt his face soften. Why were blue eyes his kryptonite? Specifically Blake’s blue eyes. “I hate for anyone to insult you unjustly. Not after everything you’ve been told and called over the years.”

And then the fucker says shit like this. This is why Adam was incapable of staying anything worse than fondly exasperated. “Stop being stupid.”

“I feel like you don’t know what your face looks like when you insult me,” Blake said. “I can’t take anything rude from you seriously.”

“Dipshit.”

“It just makes me want to pinch your cheeks,” Blake cooed. Because he was an asshole.

Adam leaned away from Blake’s chair. “Just don’t be a dick to Randy.”

“Don’t try to get this conversation back on track,” Blake said. “I like getting your flustered.”

“I hope your ranch gets bought by Starbucks.”

“Now that’s just unkind,” Blake said.

“I’m going back to my chair,” Adam said, his retreat halted when Blake gently gripped his forearm.

“I’m not going to abuse my coaching power,” Blake said. “My personal feelings won’t affect my coaching.”

Adam smiled. “You’re too honest of a country boy to do anything else. I just had to make sure it didn’t take you too long to come back to your morals.”

“God help us if Adam Levine is the angel on my shoulder,” Blake said.

“Hey, I’d look fucking awesome with a halo.”

 

_October 2012_

“And, for those of you just tuning in, we’re with Maroon 5’s frontman, Adam Levine,” Howard Stern said, his mouth inches from the radio station’s microphone. “Or better known as The Voice’s one success story.”

“I don’t know about that,” Adam interjected.

“Oh _I_ know,” Howard said. “Tell me Adam, what’s your secret? How did you succeed where all other reality show winners fail? You didn’t even _win_ for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m just lucky.”

“Bullshit. You’ve adjusted to fame so well,” Howard Stern said. “A lot of people can’t handle fame when they first experience it, even people who’ve been famous for a while struggle with the beast. All the behind the scenes, constantly being energetic around press and fans—or else you’ll be labeled a dick—and long hours is taxing. And you became famous pretty much immediately after your stint on The Voice. So you had zero preparation. I’m just surprised you haven’t gone on a drug-induced coma or panic attack yet.”

Adam laughed. “I just hide those behind closed doors, man.”

“So what’s your secret to success?” Howard pressed. “You can’t just be that lucky.”

“I am though,” Adam insisted. “Everything really came together after the show ended. The band reunited—”

“You mean hopped on the tailcoats of your Voice success? I’d think so.”

“We disbanded Maroon 5 in 2000 for various reasons,” Adam said. “But none of us were really just content with life without performing, you know? James still played guitar, Jesse helped me write some songs, and Mickey never put down his bass. The addition of Matt Flynn as our drummer was a huge benefit to Maroon 5. We all loved music. It only made sense that we try and achieve our dream with this second chance.”

“The second chance worked out quite well for you," Howard said. 

“Oh yeah just a tad,” Adam teased.

“So well that many people even wondered _why_ you needed a second chance. What moron at Almatrax told you no at the beginning? How did they continue ignoring your voice all those years you were part of their corporate machine?”

“You know I can’t name names. But the producer who rejected us was very...persistent. I don’t know.  It’s kind of hard to hold a grudge about that now, especially since I haven't stepped foot in that music studio in over a year.”

“You could’ve achieved this level of success much sooner. You realize that, right?”

“I wouldn't say that."

Howard snorted loudly. "Cut the modest act. Look at your success now. How much bigger would you be if you actually got out there sooner?"

"That’s just surreal to think about.”

“Think about it, accept it, roll in money, crash expensive cars, fuck hookers. You deserve it.”

Adam chuckled. “I’ll tell that to PR.”

“No really,” Howard said. “Maroon 5 is so hot right now. It’s unbelievable that you were all nobodies last year. And, in case Almatrax hasn’t noticed yet, your voice is constantly on the radio.”

“Oh I’m sure they've heard,” Adam said.

“Have you sent that producer who rejected you a fruit basket? Some ice cream?" Howard asked. "Does he still have his job? I’d fire the pompous asshat that rejected one of the most popular bands.”

“He still has a job,” Adam said. “No one from Almatrax told me differently anyways, but I only talk to a few of my old coworkers. Maroon 5 doesn’t record at Almatrax so...”

“Imagine the irony of you winning The Voice,” Howard said. “The winner got an Almatrax record deal.”

“Part of the reason I’m glad I didn’t win.”

“Really? Only part?”

“Yeah, The Voice already gave me the exposure I wanted,” Adam said. “Actually, at the beginning of the competition, I didn’t think I’d get a single coach to turn around. And when they did, I assumed I would fail in the first round...The Voice is great but I would never want to go through that again. Competing on national television is stressful.”

“So the money prize didn’t appeal to you?”

“Money always appeals to me,” Adam joked. “But I did pretty decently without the cash prize.”

“Just a bit,” Howard agreed. “So Maroon 5’s first album Hands All Over released earlier this year, along with your brilliant collaborations. You would’ve been set with just Stereo Hearts, but you also managed to nab a Voice coach to feature in Moves Like Jagger.”

“Oh yeah, Maroon 5 was incredibly lucky that Christina agreed. That definitely would never have happened if it weren’t for The Voice.”

“Moves Like Jagger sky-rocketed Maroon 5 to the tops of the charts. It was a very beneficial relationship between you two.”

“Very beneficial for Maroon 5 definitely,” Adam said. “Christina was a great sport for collaborating with us. She’s such a huge supporter.”

“Well, Christina Aguilera hasn’t exactly been releasing new, _good_ music for years. The Voice reminded everyone she was a thing and you arrive in season 2 to finally get her a firm foothold in the current music scene. I think she owes you guys some thanks.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” Adam said. “She was a great contribution to Hands All Over, but Maroon 5 benefited from her a hell lot more than she did from us.”

“This is her first hit in years.”

“This is Maroon 5’s first hit ever,” Adam said. “Christina works hard to be successful in the music industry. She’s the rare combination of insanely talented and business-savvy.”

“And what are you in those categories?”

“Insanely talented, obviously.”

Howard laughed. “Obviously. So let’s not demean the rest of your album. Hands All Over peaked at number 2 on the Billboard charts. You had top 100 hits like Misery, Stutter, Never Gonna Leave This Bed. And your first single Sunday Morning reached the number one spot on the chart so quickly, I’m surprised we didn’t get whiplash...Am I leaving anything out? Because this is a hard feat for _established_ artists, let alone newbies like you.”

“Trust me, no one is more ecstatic for Maroon 5’s success than me,” Adam said.

“Except for Blake.”

“Blake is Maroon 5’s biggest cheerleader—literally.”

“So with all this insane success with Maroon 5’s new album, what’s this talk about you releasing another album this year?”

“Not an original album and it'll probably be released early next year,” Adam said. “It’ll be a cover album. It was Blake’s idea and the rest of the guys agreed. Basically, it’s just a cover of some songs I’ve written over the years, along with some songs that were on our original demo. It’s a nostalgic album for us that other people will hopefully also enjoy.”

“ ‘Some songs I’ve written over the years,’ ” Howard repeated. “That doesn’t really narrow it down. I’m honestly floored by the amount of songs you’ve written—and the variety of genre. I bet Blake was disappointed when he realized you’ve already written country songs.”

Adam laughed. “He got over it. He better since I’ve been his sales pitch on The Voice.”

“You went from riding his coattails to him riding yours.”

“No one is riding anyone’s coattails,” Adam said. “We both work hard in our very different genres.”

“Yet you toured with him what eleven months ago?”

“I said we work in different genres, not that we were completely exclusive,” Adam said. “Look, Blake was the best mentor I could ask for. He’s my creative soundboard. He gave me confidence, guidance. Honestly, I doubt I would have made it this far if it weren’t for Blake in the background.”

“And this isn’t riding his coattails...?”

“Well, I think since his fame carries little weight in the pop rock world probably not,” Adam said. “He definitely exposed me to more country fans when I toured with him—which went better than expected—but I earned my way here. Even with Blake’s advice, at the end of the day, Maroon 5 has final say.”

“Hmm fair enough,” Howard said. “So what songs are you covering on your new album?”

“The official list is still being compiled,” Adam said. “We all have favorites that we want to include. Even though, She Will Be Loved will be included.”

“Come on, you have to know a few definite ones,” Howard urged.

Adam hesitated briefly. “I can give you some...”

“Shoot.”

“Harder to Breathe, This Love, I Won't Go Home Without You, Makes Me Wonder, If I Never See Your Face Again—”

“Ooh so not only some Pink but Rhianna too? You guys don’t screw around.”

Adam shrugged, shooting Howard a grin. “We like the challenge.”

“I figured you’d do some other shittily recieved songs like She Will Be Loved.”

“Nah, if all my first songs bombed like She Will Be Loved, I wouldn't have a career,” Adam said. “Besides, our covers will obviously be different. Not all of the musical changes are as obvious as it is on She Will Be Loved, but I—and the guys—always had a specific vision of how the songs should be performed. Obviously, as songwriter, I didn’t have that much control over my songs once they hit production.”

“Just crazy,” Howard Stern mumbled. “At least you have appropriate recognition now—as long overdue as it is—so tell me one thing.”

“Uh oh.”

“How much has your sex life changed? Or do you have a special someone?”

Adam chuckled. “I was waiting for the relationship question.”

“Does that mean you have a dirty little secret you’d like to share with the class?”

“Definitely not little and only slightly dirty,” Adam said, “but yeah, I’m currently seeing someone.”

“Do we get a name? Career? Description?”

“We do not,” Adam said.

“Damn, maybe next time,” Howard said. “For those of you who have just returned from your yearlong retreat with monks, purchase your copy of Maroon 5’s Hands All Over today and keep an eye out for their cover album. Thanks for joining us today, Adam. Congrats on the AMA nomination, by the way."”

"Thanks," Adam said. “This was fun.”

“Then maybe we could do this again.”

“Sure I’ll stop by after my next album is released.”

“I’ll hold you to that."

 

_May 2011_

It was strange how much more relaxing The Voice set was when the immediate threat of elimination wasn’t looming over your head. Walking through The Voice set now contained a surreal feeling of ease. The Battle Rounds took place over a span of four weeks on TV. So The Voice was filming the Battles in relatively real time. Which meant Adam was safe and secure for the next few weeks. It was a refreshing change.

Adam, or any of the other non-competing contestants, weren’t required to be on set if they weren’t formally practicing with Blake (of course, the show only filmed a few of their actual practices) or competing. But Adam felt like a kid in a candy store. He never experienced anything like the constant hustle and bustle of The Voice before.

Adam refrained from being completely in awe and irresponsible. So he planned to work these few weeks before the live performances (and shit won’t those be a blast). Adam's thrum of excitement warred with his anxiety, but he ignored the stressed part of his brain. His coworkers already saw his audition—Adam blamed James for spamming his audition to everyone with a pulse, but The Voice was insanely popular so who fucking knew. Blaming James gave Adam more pleasure though—and they were surprisingly supportive. A lot of the other songwriters and musicians Adam collaborated with were suddenly smugly ecstatic. The more bureaucratic part (i.e. office workers) of Almatrax already planned a viewing party. Adam was torn between bizzare gratitude and vague horror.

Everyone from his mother to next door neighbor would monitor his progress on The Voice. He could utterly fail and everybody would witness it. At least he made it past the Battles...Adam shook his hands and took a quick left. He didn’t come to set to psych himself out.

He pushed through some double doors and the chaos and hypnotic swirl of music surrounded him.

“Hey, Adam,” Matt called. “You realize that you’re no longer required to be here.”

Adam smiled disarmingly as a few of The Voice’s musicians turned toward him. “But you guys have awesome instruments.”

“Don’t you work with a music label?” Matt asked rhetorically. “I’m sure they have instruments for you to destroy.”

“I don’t destroy instruments.”

“You’re just very enthusiastic,” Matt amended.

Adam rolled his eyes as the other musicians looked at each other in concern. “I’ll destroy your face if you don’t stop.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Matt said. “If you attack me then you’ll have no musician ally to vouch for you.”

“I don’t know,” Adam mused, “I think Theo would vouch for me.”

Matt laughed. “Good point.”

“Fraternizing with the contestants?” a man with a thick sideburns asked.

Matt rolled his eyes at the burley man's approach. “Nothing in the rules says I can’t talk to Adam, Lucas.”

“And, no offense,” Adam said, “but how much weight does Matt have in the competition?”

“I could play the other contestants’ songs offbeat,” Matt mused.

“Then Theo will be really happy,” Adam said.

“Poor Theo just wants to play center stage,” Lucas said gruffly. Adam couldn’t tell if he was sarcastic or not. Lucas’ tone never veered from grouchy.  

“Poor Theo can just play a few sets like I did when I was the backup drummer,” Matt said.

“I think the politically correct term is ‘second drummer,’ ” Adam said. “It sounds less demeaning.”

Matt scoffed. “And you’re always so politically correct.”

“I could be.”

“Be nice to your contestant friend,” Lucas reprimanded.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Adam said. “I’m Adam, by the way.”

Lucas hummed. “I know.”

Adam blinked. “Yeah, I guess you would.”

“So why are you here pestering my drummer?”

“Oh um.” Adam suddenly felt awkward. Suddenly uncertain _why_  he had assumed he could play music with Matt—and possibly some other Voice musicians. All the exposure to music made Adam itch to play with a band, but his old bandmates still seemed like taboo territory—like they did last week? His and Matt’s impromptu jam session was surprisingly fun. Playing with another talented musician always was.

“Stop trying to act intimidating,” Matt said. “Everyone here is just dicking around right now anyway. It’s not a big deal if Adam joins us.”

“How good are you, Adam?” Lucas asked.

“He’s good,” Matt vouched. “Of course I’ve only heard him play guitar and drums.”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow. “ _You_ like him on drums.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Never thought I’d live—”

Adam wandered towards a couple guitarists a few feet away. “So can I just chill with you guys?”

“Getting away from the lover's spat?” one guitarist asked, flicking her hair away from her eyes.

“Oh yeah,” Adam said. “I think Lucas is cool with me being here. Maybe?”

“Lucas manages all the musicians,” the girl said. “He’s a big believer in tough love and scare tactics. He would never openly accept anyone not on the NBC payroll.”

“Let me guess: He’s secretly a giant marshmallow?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The girl appraised him for a second before handing him a guitar next to her. “Let’s see if you deserve all those praises Matt has been singing.”

“Matt has been singing?”

“Very off key, but yes. Apparently, you know a lot of music off the top of your head,” the guitarist said.

Adam shrugged. “It’s just something I picked up over the years.”

“Congratulations,” the guitarist said dryly, “now let’s see if you can keep up.”

 

* * *

 

“You sound perfect Tina,” Blake gushed. “This was probably your strongest practice yet. Just remember to not be so stiff during the actual performance. _Feel_ the music.”

Tina and Raelynn giggled at Blake’s one-person slow dance. He cracked a grin at them.

“Raelynn, I love your energy,” Blake said. “Just gotta control that voice more. You have the tendency of going sharp during the chorus.”

Raelynn flushed, pushing her cowgirl hat up. “Sorry, I get excited.”

“And that’s great,” Blake beamed. “Just work on the finesse.”

“Finesse,” Raelynn nodded. “Got it.”

A ringing cell phone blared through their practice room. “Alright, and I wish I could hang out with you girls longer, but duty calls,” Blake said.

“Bye, Blake!” Tina called.

“See you,” Blake said.

Tina turned to Raelynn. “You sounded good, sugar. I don’t think you need to do as much work as Blake made it sound like.”

“Thanks,” Raelynn said. “But I’ll still practice before our Battle on Friday.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Tina shrugged. “Just don’t let Blake make you feel like bad about your voice.”

Raelynn’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t.”

Tina held up her hands. “Just making sure, sugar.”

“I’m gonna go find some food,” Raelynn said.

Raelynn stalked out of the room before Tina could open her mouth. Tina was contradictory. She tried to be buddy-buddy with Raelynn but repeatedly attempted to mess with her. She just couldn’t be obvious about it because Raelynn was 16 and Tina was supposedly in her more mature thirties. But Raelynn knew Tina felt that preforming with a high schooler was beneath her. So Raelynn always beat a hasty retreat when Blake left them alone.

She was already nervous enough about Battles that she didn’t have room for Tina’s voice in her head. Tina had been singing for decades. Raelynn didn’t have anything close to that amount of experience. Raelynn was fine singing in her room, even the practices with Blake. But as soon as the cameras started rolling a cold sweat broke out.

And she couldn’t hit any of her notes! Raelynn wished she could blame Tina but the thirty-six year old country singer—who wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was—wasn’t all that intimidating. More annoying than anything. And if she called her sugar one more time...

The blonde shook her head, taking a random turn down the hallway. She came on The Voice to become famous. She wanted a stadium full of people chanting her name. Yet here she was, barely two weeks in and already freaking out. They weren’t even at the live shows yet. How was Raelynn supposed to deal with that type of pressure if she couldn’t deal with the Battles?

Of course, that might not become a problem if Raelynn could  _hit the fucking notes._ She leaned against the wall. She just didn’t have enough experience. She was surrounded by adults who all collectively began singing when they could barely walk. It was terrifying. Raelynn bit her lip—probably smearing her lipstick but fuck it—letting her head thud against the wall.

Why was she having these problems? She loved singing. Was it the stress? The cameras? The combined rush of new experiences? Raelynn let out a breath. Nothing she could do but practice and hope for the best she supposed.

Doors banging open and laughter trickling out made Raelynn shrink against the wall.

A floppy haired man strode out, holding the door open for a girl with a  pixie cut and a guitar hanging behind her back.

“Did you see Lucas’ face?” floppy haired man cackled.

“You just wanted to fuck with Lucas,” pixie girl dismissed.

“You thought it was funny,” Adam said, waltzing out the doors, following the two other Voice employees—musicians probably. Adam was one of the few non-country singers on Blake’s team. But Raelynn liked him, even if they didn’t have the immediate southern connection. Not that she hung around him much... But she was always impressed with his performances. She wished she was that natural on stage.

The pixie girl cracked a smile. “Lucas’ expression was amusing when he saw you on the drums.”

“I told Lucas you were a good drummer,” the floppy haired man said. “And I played that song so many times already it was nice to take a break and have Adam take over.”

“Oh yes how nice for you,” the pixie girl said dryly.

“You’re a sick guitarist,” Adam said. “I feel like you and James need to meet and have a guitar off.”

The pixie girl hummed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The floppy haired man feigned shock. “Aly give a compliment? I should’ve been sitting down.”

Aly raised a sharp eyebrow. “I can make it so you _have_ to sit down.”

“Russian chicks are awesome,” Adam said, offering Aly a fist bump. She accepted with a wry grin.

Matt shrugged. “They’re alright.”

Aly hit him in the shoulder. The whack was audible to even Raelynn, who promptly snorted, drawing the attention of the trio.

Adam’s face lightened up in recognition. “Hey, Raelynn. What’s up?”

“Just finished practicing with Blake,” Raelynn said, forcing herself away from the wall to socialize like a normal human being instead of lurking like a stalker.

“Ooh yeah, preparing for Battles,” Adam said. “So glad I was in the first round.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t have to go first,” Raelynn said. “That’d be so stressful. Not that it’s better now...”

“How did Blake’s practice go?” Adam asked.

Raelynn assumed that her falling face prompted Aly and the floppy haired man’s sudden retreat—all under the pretense of finding a lost drumstick.

“It’s okay. My practices went like shit too,” Adam said as the two musicians vanished through the doors they just exited.

Raelynn jerked her head back. “What really?”

“Oh yeah,” Adam said. “I sounded like shit.”

“What changed?” Raelynn frowned. “Because your Fighter was mind-blowing.”

“I should keep you in my pocket,” Adam mused. “You’re great for my self-esteem.”

“Like you need help with your self-esteem,” Raelynn scoffed. Adam oozed cockiness.

Adam gave her a dry smile. “My performance improved from the train wreck it was because I listened to Blake. He’s a great coach. He reminded me why I got into the industry to begin with. He has that knack for knowing exactly what to say to help you. Just act on whatever advice he gave you and you'll be good. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“I just need to practice,” Raelynn said. “Nothing special. Just control my voice and work on finesse.”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, Tina will be tough competition. Her range is impressive.”

“Thanks, you make me feel so much better,” Raelynn drawled.

“You’re a tough competitor too,” Adam interjected. “You didn’t let me finish.”

Raelynn glanced down the hallway. It was surprisingly deserted save for a few PAs and crew scattered at the other end. “Tina is fantastic. Scarily so. She just... _knows_ exactly what to do. It's intimidating.”

“Clearly she doesn’t know exactly what to do since she’s here and not with a music label,” Adam said.

“But her voice is so good...so _controlled_ ,” Raelynn said.

“You’d be surprised what raw talent can accomplish,” Adam said. “What you lack in experience, you make up for in passion. I _may_ have creeped over all the contestants audition tapes. Whatever you’re thinking, I want you to get it out of your head right now that you don’t belong here. The maturity and energy in your voice is amazing.”

“You think so?”

“My gut is rarely wrong,” Adam said sagely. “Come on. Let’s practice your song. The more the merrier, right?”

A grin threatened to break her face. “Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

Blake leaned by one of The Voice’s many food carts. Carson Daly picked at a sandwich nearby. They were in one of the main lobbies of The Voice. Producers and crew members often passed through here. The constant bustle of people impossibly grew because Heather—The Voice’s God and Mother Teresa, as Blake dubbed her—was  currently slouched by a nearby desk.

“You still don’t know LA?” Carson asked.

“I’m only here during The Voice,” Blake said. “I have drivers that take me where I need to go. Why would I want to drive in LA traffic?”

“I’m not saying you should drive,” Carson said. “But at least read a map or something.”

“That would only work if Blake was literate,” Christina called.

“Damn it, Christina,” Blake yelled, “I told you that in confidence.”

Christina’s cackling laugh followed her out the door.

“This is why she has the reputation as a diva,” Carson said.

“Along with the fact that she is actually a diva,” Blake said.

“Blake, Heather, I have a question,” one of the new PAs—Paul? Phil?—asked over the dull roar of Studio B.

Heather squinted at him. The PA glanced down at his clipboard, seemingly gathering his courage. Blake stared, also intrigued. Crew members often ran in front of him, but rarely had something specifically for Blake that wasn’t performance related.

“What?” Heather asked brusquely.

“Is it against the rules to have contestants help each other?”

Heather furrowed her brow. “Help each other how exactly? The Voice doesn’t condone cheating. Obviously.”

The PA shrank at her curt tone. “It’s not cheating. A contestant from round one is helping another contestant practice her song.”

“Give me names.”

The PA twitched. “Adam is helping Raelynn practice.”

Heather hummed. “It’s not against the rules and it obviously doesn’t affect Adam’s results. From what we’ve found, Adam’s only previous affiliation is with Jermaine.  I don’t care as long as their coach doesn’t mind that she’s found a new vocal instructor. And if he does mind he can take care of it himself.”

“Not very subtle, Heather,” Blake tsked.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Heather said. “Manage your team. Bring cameras if you want. I don’t care. Just go shoo shoo. Some of us need to work.”

“I feel like Heather needs a vacation,” Blake said, watching Heather’s red hair disappear past the incoming Voice musicians.

“She keeps saying she’ll rest when she passes out,” Carson said.

“I don’t think that’s healthy...”

“Probably not,” the producer mused. “So are you bringing a camera crew?”

“Nah,” Blake said. “Can’t have the rock star showing me up. His pretty face only excuses him from so much.”

Carson snorted. “I’m following. I want to see this.”

“You want to creep from afar, more like.”

“Right like you’re not interested in what advice your rock star is giving Raelynn.”

 

* * *

 

Raelynn closed her eyes and sang the last few bars again. Adam was a surprisingly perfect practice partner. Not only did he have extensive singing knowledge—she honestly forgot that he was a songwriter for a prominent music studio. She didn’t know if he was supposed to be technically perfect each time he performed the songs he wrote or if it was just an Adam thing—but he knew exactly when to have her stop and readjust. When he wasn’t giving her singing instruction—she may have forced out some performance tips despite his “I’m just winging it” excuse—he was singing Tina’s part of Free Fallin’.

The hour they’ve been practicing flew by because Adam was just so patient and focused. He alwasy seemed to know when she was wavering on the edge of frustration and would say something sarcastic or joke around to relieve the tension. She didn’t know something as tedious as in depth practicing and the perfection of every note could turn out so... _fun_.

“That sounded fantastic, Raelynn,” Adam said.

“You said that last time,” Raelynn teased. “I think you’re running out of adjectives.”

Adam rolled his eyes, knocking Raelynn’s cowgirl hat to the floor. “You’re spot-on when you hit the notes now. If you don’t win the Battle, I’ll hogtie a pig or some other southern thing.”

“As long as you’re wearing flannel.”

“Obviously," Adam said. "What else could a hogtier wear?”

“Something leather,” Blake said.

Adam and Raelynn both stiffened and turned to see their coach leaning casually against the door. Blake grinned at their expressions as he pushed off the doorframe.

“Anything leather?” Adam asked. “Because that could change the context of the hogtie.”

Raelynn choked on her on spit, but Blake just looked amused.

“So are you two concocting a plan to overthrow me as coach?”

“Yep, we miss Miranda,” Adam said.

“Understandable,” Blake nodded. “But she doesn’t have my coaching experience.”

“Maybe she’ll learn well under pressure,” Raelynn said.

Adam snapped his fingers, pointing at Raelynn. “Yes, improvisation sparks creativity.”

“You turned Raelynn against me?” Blake asked, his face falling. Raelynn opened her mouth but Blake’s wink stopped her onslaught of guilt.

Adam’s expression didn’t flicker, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “Miranda for the win.”

“Here, here,” Raelynn added.

“Damn,” Blake said. “So how long have you two been practicing?”

Adam glanced at his watch, eyebrows rising. “A little over an hour.”

“Busy beavers,” Blake said. “Want to show me what you got?”

Adam and Raelynn glanced at each other.

“Sure,” Raelynn chirped. Adam seemed suddenly uncertain, but Raelynn needed Blake to hear and critique her performance. Adam’s patient coaching and casual, genuine praise resparked her determination to win. She just needed to make sure her voice matched her determination. “Adam, can you sing Tina’s bits?”

Adam nodded. “After you, m’lady.”

Raelynn giggled.

“Ah, I see how you converted her,” Blake said.

“Flattery gets you everywhere,” Adam agreed.

Raelynn took a breath as Adam began to strum the music on a guitar he procured from Aly.

_“She’s a good girl, loves her mama_

_Loves Jesus and America too_

_She’s a good girl, crazy ‘bout Elvis_

_Loves horses and her boyfriend too...”_

Raelynn smiled at Blake’s content, enraptured face. He always got so invested in every one of his team’s performances. She swayed as Adam took the next verse. He sounded nothing like Tina, but she loved their duet.

_“It’s a long day livin’ in Reseda_

_There’s a freeway, runnin’ through the yard_

_And I’m a bad boy, cause I don’t even miss her_

_I’m a bad boy for breakin’ her heart...”_

Part of her craved for Adam to be her duet partner, but another part was grateful he didn’t have the opportunity to beat her in a battle. Either way, Raelynn  loved performing with Adam. His energy was addictive. He effortlessly fell back and actually _shared_ the spotlight with Raelynn. Unlike a certain other person who flounced around stage in an attempt to hog all the attention.

Blake clapped as they sang the last note. “Very impressive. Your practice earlier was great, but it’s crazy how much better control you have over your voice with this performance.”

“Adam is a Nazi when it comes to the technicalities,” Raelynn divulged. “You have no idea how many times I had to repeat the same few bars of the song.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Adam protested.

“You always endeared yourself to me whenever I felt like killing you,” Raelynn said. “An impressive talent, honestly.”

“Maybe you should try growing a mustache,” Blake mused.

“I’d look like a pedophile,” Adam dismissed.

“So the whole being associated with mass genocide barely bleeps your radar?” Blake asked.

“You never said a Hitler-stache.”

“It was implied, rock star,” Blake said.

“But never explicitly stated, Big Country,” Adam refuted.

Raelynn glanced between Blake and Adam in amusement. She felt like they could argue about nothing for hours. “But Hitler tendencies aside, I am really grateful for your help Adam.”

Adam smiled, turning back to the blonde. “No problem.”

“Not that I disapprove of this practice session, or any sessions like this in the future,” Blake said. Adam tensed slightly, putting the guitar back on its stand, "but you realize that I’m here specifically to help you with any concerns you have, musical or personal.”

“Oh, I know,” Raelynn said. “Really! This practice session just kinda happened. I bumped into Adam and told him I was nervous and he offered to help me run through the song.”

“Yeah, trust me, you made your assistance very obvious,” Adam told Blake.

“Literally the first thing Adam told me was to take your advice as gospel,” Raelynn said.

“Really?” Blake smirked.

Adam flushed. “You know what you’re doing. I guess.”

“Just you two remember—and I’ll also reiterate this to the rest of the team—it doesn’t matter how small you think the problem is, from a note you can’t hit to a broken nail. If you need someone to talk to, I’m your guy,” Blake said. “You have my phone number. Use it.”

“Alright,” Raelynn beamed.

Adam nodded.

“Ok, now let’s get some food,” Blake said. “Watching you two practice is famishing. Adam, you were much more of a drill sergeant than I expected.”

“How long were you watching us?” Adam asked. “Creeper.”

“And Adam is a _nice_ drill sergeant,” Raelynn inserted.

“Yeah, I’m very sweet and cuddly,” Adam said.

Blake threw his arms across his team members. “I watched y’all long enough for Carson to get bored and wander off to do whatever Carson Daly does.”

“We need to find out how impatient Carson is,” Adam told Raelynn. “Our coach might be a stalker.”

“He’s kinda cute and huggable,” Raelynn considered. “Maybe we should keep him.”

“No, don’t fall for his looks and accent,” Adam warned. “He uses those as distraction techniques.”

“You’re the one with an accent, city boy,” Blake said.

“I keep telling him to wear flannel so he can blend in,” Raelynn said.

Blake studied Adam. Adam stared back challengingly. “And maybe wear a cowboy hat.”

“Cowboy hat?” Adam protested. “That’s where I draw the line. The only hats I wear area beanies.”

“Not even a fedora?” Raelynn asked.

“No, because I’m not in the mob or a pervert,” Adam said.

“Darn, there goes all my theories,” Blake said.

Adam rolled his eyes as Raelynn and Blake continued to discuss the LA mafia that Adam probably controlled. Raelynn beamed. She could get used to singing professionally if this is what a music career entailed.

 

_November 2011_

Adam cheered hoarsely from the side of the stage. Blake’s tour officially started two weeks ago and it was awesome. Blake never truly was in his essence until he was onstage, crooning to thousands of his fans. Adam had difficulties tearing his eyes away from the country star.

“Save your voice, man,” James yelled in his ear.

Adam clapped harder, raising an eyebrow at James.

“Don’t give me that look,” the guitarist said. “We need you to sing at tomorrow's show.”

“Blake warned you not to over practice,” Jesse said.

“And what happened? You over practiced,” James reprimanded. “I feel like we played all the playlist songs at least fifty times.”

“And all our backup playlist songs,” Jesse added.

“Eh eh, no speaking,” James scolded when Adam opened his mouth. “You’re technically still on vocal rest.”

Adam rolled his eyes. That and the middle finger were the most he could do without a James and Blake lecture. At least Matt and Mickey were more prone to support his antics. Jesse generally switched between scolding and mocking Adam. Because Jesse was a dick.

“Y’all have been such a great crowd tonight!” Blake yelled in his microphone. The stadium’s cheers rose up as the country singer took his parting bow.

Blake came off stage, pulling various crew members and singers into quick hugs. Blake’s other openers were all, predictably, country singers. Adam, along with being the first opener, was the only singer from The Voice. Blake told Adam on the first night that he only had room for one Voice singer. Adam ignoring the warm glow that overtook him at the fact that his coach picked him.

Blake's most famous opener was temporary. Because, as Kelly Clarkson said, she had shit to do later. But why she wanted to get away from touring Adam had no idea. He forgot how much fun actual touring was. Cramped buses, hectic schedules, live performances...could be someone’s hell but Adam was thriving.

Maroon 5 had been getting warm reception so far, which apparently only Maroon 5 was surprised by. Sunday Morning and Stereo Hearts, the only original songs released with Adam's vocals, were met with cheering and—shockingly enough—crowd members singing along. She Will Be Loved was a crowd favorite, much to Adam’s relief. The other two songs Maroon 5 performed changed every venue. They were making up for lost time.

Honestly, this tour just made Adam desire to have Maroon 5 depart on their own tour. But that wouldn’t happen until their first album release. Adam smiled. He had songs mulling around in his head for years that he hadn’t been quite ready to part with, not that he had been willing to think about _why_ he was holding onto them until recently. Now Adam could just sing them in his own band. The amount of joy he felt was immense.

The rest of the guys were equally as excited by touring. All the live performances reminded all of them how much they loved music. Music could be anything they wanted it to be. The freedom was inspiring and intimidating.

Maroon 5’s practices—and sound checking the equipment after each set up at a new venue. They were excited, okay? Everyone else was very willing to indulge them and let them play to their heart’s content. And Blake always looked so God damn proud after ever Maroon 5 performance. Adam feigned annoyance at the tall country singer, but doubted anyone believed it. Adam was too damn fond of the man—have the tendency to end in a jam session. Most of it was shit, but they stumbled across the occasional chord progression or piano tune that could definitely be fitted into a future song somewhere. It reminded Adam of when they were creating their demo in the late 90s. Funny how some things never changed.

A sweaty mass picked up the singer and swung him through the air. Adam clung to Blake with one hand and thumped him with another.  

Blake placed Adam gently on the ground, his arm not straying from his shoulders. Adam scowled back up at him. “I love it when you’re on vocal rest. You’re so compliant.”

Adam whacked the country star in the stomach, grinning when Blake let out a loud oof.

“He still cheered for you,” James said. “He got in trouble.”

Blake’s eyes twinkled, looking at Adam with such fondness it made the frontman flush. “I knew there was a reason I turned my chair around for you. Of course, I only let you stay because of your looks.”

Adam gave Blake his middle finger.

The country singer chuckled. “Come on, rock star, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Not coming to the after party?” Jesse asked.

“We’ll be there shortly,” Blake said. “After we’re done in my trailer.”

“Kinky,” Matt said.

Adam reached to whack Matt but let out a startled—manly, fuck you very much—squeal when Sasquatch decided to go caveman and throw Adam over his shoulder.

“What did you mama tell you about hitting people?” Blake asked as he began trekking towards his trailer. Adam’s friends laughed and the crew members they passed either smiled or continued rushing to their task. Note to self: It takes about a week of manhandling before people become used to Blake treating Adam like his personal plaything.

Adam squirmed on Blake’s shoulder.

Blake hit his ass lightly. “Stop that. Or I’ll drop you on your pretty face.”

Adam resigned himself to digging his elbows into Blake’s back as he propped his face up. Blake deserved it. It was disorienting being carried whilst flung over someone’s shoulder. But it was something Adam was growing used to. Shit and he thought Blake was touchy-feely during The Voice.

“You’re just so gosh-darn tiny,” Blake cooed. “I just want to chub your cheeks and carry you around in my pocket.”

Adam dug his elbows into Blake’s back. The country star grunted.

“And everyone told me that this tour would be a blast,” Blake said. “They didn’t know I’d get abused.”

If Adam was talking, he’d tell Blake that he was the giant oaf lugging Adam around like a fucking barbarian. But he was a professional and—despite James and Blake’s taunts—had enough restraint to remain on vocal rest.

“We have just enough time to talk business, party for a bit, and then hit the road. Tomorrow night, we’ll be in Houston.”

Adam watched as the ground went by with every step. Really there was nothing to look at but the ground and Blake’s ass. But Blake had a nice ass so Adam couldn’t complain about the view too much.

With impressive maneuvering, Blake managed to open his trailer door and duck under the doorframe all without banging Adam’s head against anything. He unceremoniously dumped the frontman on the couch.

Blake plopped next to Adam. The Maroon 5 singer scrunched his nose at him. Blake rolled his eyes. “You’re such a diva.”

But he still got up, stripping off his sweaty shirt. Adam’s gaze roved up and down Blake’s tan back before he forced his gaze away. Blake found out during The Voice that Adam was gay and the country star remained unfazed. His interactions with Adam weren’t affected and Blake’s tactile nature was not restrained like he assumed would happen based on some of his past experiences. And Blake was very tactile.

And then _this_ happened. Adam didn’t want to fuck up their friendship just because he turned into the gay cliché that was attracted to his straight friend. Just...shit Blake was so God damn honest and kind and hilarious. He was one of the few people Adam could spend a hours around and never get sick of them. And considering the fact that Blake and Adam truly became friends five months ago, the level of ease he felt around Blake was shocking. Also, the fact Blake was a handsome guy certainly didn’t hurt.

So yeah, Adam deplored his usual method of dealing with personal problems and avoiding his feelings until they went away. Besides, Blake and Miranda were apparently an item. And Adam saw them during Battle rounds. They were very comfortable around each other. Blake always insisted they were really close friends when pressed by the media. Despite the fact he knew Blake would tell him, Adam refused to ask the country singer about his relationship status. He didn’t know how to ask it without schooling his face to reveal nothing. Because now Blake was getting to the stage where he could read Adam’s face even when he tried to hide something.

Blake lurched back to the couch with a fresh t-shirt on. “Such a diva.”

Adam stuck out his tongue.

“Even though I do forget how mature you are,” Blake said dryly.

Adam blew a raspberry.

“So I talked to Christina,” Blake said, “just to plant a few seeds. Don’t give me that look! I know you wanted to ask her but I was just hinting, honest. Anyway, so Christina listened to the track and loved it like I said she would. She’s very interested in singing the song with you.”

Adam’s eyes widened. Screw vocal rest. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I told you it’s a great song,” Blake beamed.

“I told you that it’ll either be a huge hit or the biggest flop,” Adam said. Moves Like Jagger was actually a song that Interscope Records, Maroon 5’s new record label, had laying around in their archives. Adam was instantly entranced. So Moves Like Jagger became Maroon 5’s first definite song on their new album, besides their single, Sunday Morning. Blake had been very indignant when he learned Almatrax passed on buying the rights to Sunday Morning because it was “too insipid and slow” for the radio.

“Either way you have the diva backing you,” Blake said. “Y’all are going to meet and record it when we stop at LA in January.”

“Blake, you fuck,” Adam said. “Giving her the track and scheduling when we record the song is not ‘hinting.’ ”

Blake shrugged sheepishly. “I wanted this to go smoothly for you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Probably rescue orphans from a firey hospital,” Blake said.

“Probably,” Adam agreed. His eyes flickered towards Blake. He jumped on the country singer before Blake could do more than blink. He clung to the country star. “Thanks so much. I have no idea how I could do any of this without you.”

Blake rearranged Adam, squeezing the smaller man into a tight hug. He cuddled closer to the country star. They slotted so easily together. Adam’s head nestled against Blake’s neck and the country star snuggling Adam impossibly closer.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Blake said. “You would be just fine without me.”

“Bullshit.” Adam leaned his head away from Blake’s shoulder. He blinked when Blake’s blue eyes were only mere inches from his own.

“You’re a fucking talented vocalist and songwriter,” Blake said. “And you’re a natural on stage and with the press. You were born to be a rock star.”

Adam let his eyes drift down Blake’s face before returning to Blake's unwavering gaze. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious, Adam,” Blake said softly. “I’ve never seen you so alive. I just want to do what I can to make sure you stay happy.”

Adam couldn’t tear his eyes away from Blake’s. Adam should move. He really needed to move. Friends don’t sit like this. Friends _definitely_ don’t sit like this.

Then blue eyes flickered to Adam’s mouth. His breath vanished. He licked his lips unconsciously. The country star's focus only turned more intense. Adam was close enough to count Blake’s freckles and stubble. What would his beard feel like?

He had to be imagining this tension. But Blake's hands frozen on Adam's back indicated otherwise. Adam really should pull his head back a normal distance. But moving would ruin the moment. Adam felt like the universe was holding its breath while the duo were interlocked. 

Why wasn’t Blake saying anything? He constantly had to put in his two cents. Fuck, should Adam say something? Adam knew he was a chatterbox.  Adam needed to move. Blake didn't ask for Adam's schoolyard crush. Blake was straight.

Probably.

Fuck Blake smelled so good.

“Blake...”

The country star zeroed in on Adam’s mouth. Adam tilted his head forward.

A knock on the trailer door made both singers jerk apart from each other. Adam tumbled to the floor.

Blake laughed. It sounded forced. The country singer quickly cleared his throat. “What?”

“Coming to the party?” Kelly called through the door. From the little they interacted, she seemed like a genuinely caring person, even if she did get a bit single-minded when it came to her music—of course, Adam knew he got the same way. So he never had anything against Kelly. Until now.

“Yeah, hold your horses!” Blake yelled. He looked awkwardly at Adam as the singer brushed invisible dirt from his jacket. Adam resisted straightening his sleeves. He didn’t have to make it obvious he was avoiding Blake’s gaze. “Coming?”

Adam glanced at Blake. For the first time since they met, the country singer’s expression was closed off. Adam swallowed. “Course.”

Blake brusquely turned to the trailer door, yanking it open to reveal a smiling Kelly. “I should’ve known Adam was here. I was looking for you earlier.”

Adam ignored Blake. He smiled at Kelly, hoping she couldn’t tell how strained it was. “I just like hiding from you.”

Kelly laughed. “Tonight’s show was great. I love crowds like that. I remember last year when—”

Adam and Blake let Kelly chatter about past shows. Blake eventually joined in the conversation once Kelly’s rambles slowed. Adam remained quiet, letting the country singers carry the conversation. Their laughs and jokes washed over him. Adam couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his gut. Blake wasn’t addressing him. Or even looking his way. Adam stared at Blake’s face before forcing his eyes away. Fuck he needed a drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Shevine was going to pop up eventually...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of came out in decent time. Quicker than the last one at least! I hope you guys enjoy!

_May 2015_

“Shit, are all we get these little fifteen minute breaks?” Adam groaned, wandering over to Blake’s chair. Adam was restless on a good day, so sitting for what seemed like hours on end listening to infinite auditions was trying. For all that he visited The Voice over the past few years, he never experienced another Blind Audition. After his own audition eight seasons ago, Adam could just leave.

The country artist stretched, using Adam as leverage to get out of his chair. “I’m surprised you’re even sore. You act like your chair will kill you if you’re on it too long.”

“My ass gets numb,” Adam said.

“I don’t see why you’re complaining,” Gwen said, waving her fan. “I thought you’d be happy having Adam repeatedly come over and fawn over you.”

“I’m not _fawning_ ,” Adam protested. “My _ass_ gets  _numb_.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

He glanced away sheepishly. “A lot...”

“He is a needy lil thing, ain’t he?” Blake said, eyeing the Maroon 5 singer. “He just knows I tolerate him the most.”

“You better do more than tolerate me, Big Country,” Adam said.

“Aww, don’t scowl, Adam,” Gwen cooed. “You can stick Blake in the dog house later.”

“He’ll be lucky to get the dog house,” Adam muttered.

Blake cupped Adam’s face in his hands. “Don’t be like that.”

Adam scrunched his nose as the country singer proceeded to place loud, smacking kisses on Adam’s cheeks. The audience cheered. “Get off me, Bigfoot.”

“But the crowd likes it,” Blake protested, dropping his hands.  “We can’t disappoint the crowd.”

“We can and we will,” Adam said, wiping his face. “I feel like Marmaduke just drooled on me.”

Blake feigned a gasp. “The Adam Levine doesn’t care about the crowd? How is this possible? How could The Adam Levine possibly advocate a potential crowd uprising by deliberately irking them?”

“The Adam Levine is getting food, since the redneck is being a dumbass.”

Blake sat down, dragging Adam into his lap before the rock star could inch away. “Hey Paul, can you bring up a couple sandwiches?”

Adam squirmed into a more comfortable position as Paul gave a thumbs up and strolled over to the food table. “Blake, the food is literally _right there_. I can walk. Stop abusing the crew.”

“I’m not abusing the crew,” Blake protested. “Paul told me specifically we need to alert him to anything he can do to ease our needs.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “I knew LA would corrupt you. Gone forever is the hard-working country singer...”

“Prolonged exposure to LA does that,” Blake said, “which explains you quite nicely.”

The audience oohed.

“You’re an idiot,” Adam said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“He’s your boyfriend, man,” Pharrell said, leaning back in his chair.

“I know,” Adam sighed, patting Blake’s face. “I have no excuse.”

“You just show your great taste,” Blake said.

“Like you could keep your hands off me,” Adam scoffed.

“Places!” Heather called.

“I haven’t even eaten yet,” Adam protested.

“Yeah, Paul!” Blake called.

“I _would’ve_ ,” Adam said. “Since the food table is literally _right there_. But _someone_ —”

“Who cares about you deeply,” Blake interrupted.

“—had to drag me on his lap like a caveman.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Blake said.

“Depriving me of food,” Adam continued loudly.

“Because I care.”

“I’ll wither away,” Adam said dramatically. He cracked open his eyes to frown at Blake. “ ‘Because you care’? I’m stealing your dinner tonight.”

“Adam!” Heather called, tossing him a sandwich. A freshly wrapped BLT hit Adam hard in the stomach. “Return to your chair. We have a lot more auditions to go through.”

“Nice to know _someone_ cares,” Adam said pointedly, sliding out of Blake’s chair.

“Fonzie called,” Blake said. “He wants his jacket back.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You can’t possibly critique my fashion choices. You consistently look like a lumberjack.”

“Aren’t you guys past the pigtail pulling phase?” Gwen asked.

Adam shrugged. “I feel like pigtail pulling is one of our specialties.”

“Along with being unbelievably sexy,” Blake added.

“Just let it happen, Gwen,” Pharrell said sagely. “Anything is better than when Adam and Blake were still circling each other.”

Gwen shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

 

_November 2011_

Things have been...strained.

Blake was still cordial, obviously. He didn’t exactly _avoid_ Adam. He just never really joked around with the Maroon 5 singer, or the band for that matter, or initiated a conversation. The country star definitely didn’t latch onto Adam as he was prone to do at the beginning of tour. Or spend prolonged time in the same room with him. Actually, the last time Blake and Adam had been in the same vicinity was during sound check a few shows ago. And Blake had been on the other side of the stage smiling as he answered a local reporter’s questions.

Ok. Maybe Blake was avoiding him.

Adam’s initial guilt and melancholy lasted a few days and rapidly shifted into frustrated irritation. He was getting pissed. Honestly, if Blake wanted to pretend that the not-kiss didn’t happen, he probably shouldn’t have turned into a petty son of a bitch.

And it was definitely an almost kiss. Adam didn’t make it up in his head. He was positive. Like 70% positive but still. All of his thoughts tended to be accompanied by a niggling bit of doubt.

Touring was still fantastic, though a bit tainted. Everything seemed less glamorous than it did the first couple weeks. Adam was certain it had everything to do with the initial overwhelming experience of touring and nothing to do with Blake’s neglect now. So what if Blake hadn’t talked to Adam in two weeks? Everyone was busy. Adam was a fucking adult. He could be professional. He didn’t need Blake’s attention.

Adam first attempted to talk to Blake the day after the not-kiss. But the country star had always been surrounded by people—crew members, his manager, the other musicians, Kelly. Past greeting each other, Adam and Blake’s conversation hadn’t progressed. And then the country star left to consult on the lighting, which Adam knew for a fact he usually pawned off on his manager, Hank.

So there was that.

Fuck, Adam really just needed to talk to Blake.

Adam frowned as he strummed on his guitar, the rest of Maroon 5 jamming around him. Maroon 5 had been toying with melodies since the beginning of touring, immersing themselves in songwriting during their down time. Everyone was so used to Maroon 5’s routine that they barely shrugged when, after arriving at Nashville this afternoon and quickly setting up for tomorrow’s show, Maroon 5 chose to stay behind at the stadium instead of joining the rest of the crew and musicians (and Blake) for dinner. Adam pretended that it was actually for the band’s sake instead of his.

Maybe Blake just didn’t want to spend time with Adam. Sure, they constantly pestered each other and started the tour with stupid pranks, which obviously hadn’t persisted past the not-kiss, but there had always been the underlying understanding and respect between them. And Blake was definitely someone Adam was growing to trust inexplicably (or he had been). But maybe Blake wanted some space. The country singer was so kind and supportive Adam honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Blake let Adam cling to him like an excited toddler just to give him an outlet for touring. Fuck, Adam would be annoyed at him if he were Blake (even though he thought their clinging was mutual).

But the timing was too conspicuous.

Maybe Adam should apologize for the not-kiss... Actually fuck that. It was Blake’s fault for avoiding the topic in the first place (even though Adam never brought it up). If the country singer was this uncomfortable with the not-kiss, he could tell it to Adam’s face. It wasn't even an actual kiss. What the fuck was Blake's problem?

Adam groaned out loud. Why were emotions a thing?

He glanced up when only his lone guitar echoed through the stadium. He grinned sheepishly at the rest of the band.

“Sorry guys. I was lost in my head. Did you want to practice a song?”

“Are you ok, Adam?” Jesse asked.

Adam blinked, watching warily as his friend hopped away from his keyboard and headed towards the front of the stage. Matt and Mickey quickly joined him. Adam glanced at James. The guitarist’s eyes were too full of worry to maintain prolonged contact. Adam placed his guitar on a nearby stand, picking up a water bottle.

“I’m fine. We really don’t need to form an intervention group right now,” Adam said, gesturing at his loose semi-circle of friends. “I’m getting better at avoiding over practicing. I haven’t had to go on vocal rest for a while.”

“That’s not the problem,” Jesse said, not blinking at Adam’s weak attempt at misdirection.

“I can still sing some of the possible lyrics for our in-progress songs,” Adam said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t actually sing a lot each show. Not compared to Kelly or Blake.”

“What’s up with you and Blake?” James asked bluntly. "You've been avoiding each other for weeks."

Adam took a swig of water. He was so glad that the microphones weren’t set up. Or that anyone loitered around the stage except for Maroon 5. Fuck, he didn’t want to get into this. But he knew they would only let him sulk and brood for so long. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” James rejected.

“The entire crew can tell something is off,” Mickey said. Adam swore internally. And here he thought they were being subtle. He and Blake were still polite to each other. What more did everyone want? “Was it a fight? Because you guys were fine, but one day it was like somebody flipped a switch. You two hardly even look at each other anymore.”

“It’s nothing,” Adam snapped. “Blake and I aren’t always attached at the hip. Surprise, surprise.”

“You and Blake have always been close,” Matt said. “Even when you two had that fight during The Voice, you both still talked to each other after a day.”

“This is different,” Adam said.

“Different how?” Jesse pressed. Adam looked away uncomfortably. The root of his and Blake’s problem wasn’t a big deal. They almost kissed. But then they didn’t. It really shouldn’t be a big deal. Literally nothing happened. Except he leaned in and Blake was his platonic friend and the implications of his fucking schoolyard crush ruined—Adam shook his head. “Adam, you haven’t been happy for weeks. When you’re with us, it’s like you’re trying too hard to joke around and act normal. You should know by now not to wear a mask around us. We can tell something is eating you up. Just tell us what it is.”

“If Blake wants to talk to me, he knows where I am,” Adam said. “I’m not going to pester and beg him to pay attention to me.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “What did that son of a bitch do?”

“Adam, just talk to us,” Jesse pleaded.

“What’s to talk about?” Adam snapped. “I fucked up. Ruined a relationship. No big fucking deal.”

“Talk to us,” Jesse repeated. “We want to help you.”

“It takes two people to ruin a relationship,” Mickey said.

“Which I doubt you did,” Jesse added hurriedly.

Adam shook his head, inching away from the group

“ _Adam_.”

Adam hesitated, staring at Jesse. “This’ll probably blow over soon. Sorry if it makes you guys uncomfortable.”

“We’re not uncomfortable,” Jesse said. “We’re worried.”

“What happened?” Matt repeated.

“I fucked up. And then I fucked up again because I didn’t want to talk to him. Just...” Adam shook his head. “I need to go out. Clear my head.”

“I’ll come—”

“ _Alone_.”

 

* * *

 

Kelly just held the door open when Blake showed up to her trailer after dinner. She had long grown used to Blake’s constant presence. Kelly and Blake had been friends for years, so he felt excusing his behavior as making up for lost time was a good excuse for his sudden companionship. But she just raised her eyebrows at him. Everyone and their second cousin knew Blake was in the habit of hanging around Adam in his spare time on tour. Kelly wasn’t an idiot. But, as his friend, she tolerated his abrupt avoidance of the frontman. But her patience was wearing thin. It was only a matter of time until her tolerance faded and she forced the truth out of Blake. Which would probably end with a call from Miranda and a large bruise curtesy of Kelly.

But Blake was doing a great job of distracting Kelly. He probably would’ve been safe for at least another week. But Blake stupidly forgot about the rest of Maroon 5, the very protective Maroon 5.

“I don’t know what you fucking _did_ ,” James continued, the rest of the band glaring behind him. James, Jesse, Mickey, and Matt stormed into Kelly’s trailer five minutes ago. Blake pretended he didn’t see the interested and worried glances from some of the crew and Hank as he closed the door behind the seething band. Kelly had yet to make a comment, but her eyes glimmered dangerously as James aggressively stepped into Blake’s space. “But stop making Adam feel like shit about it. He’s quick to act the martyr. As _you_ know.”

“He’s been in a rut for weeks,” Mickey said, “because of you.”

“You don’t even talk to him,” James said. “I thought you were an adult.”

“I didn’t know you were so quick to drop your friends,” Matt spat.

“Blake is loyal,” Kelly interjected, apparently hitting her limit of Blake abuse.

James laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, obviously.”

“Just because Adam is brooding, doesn’t give you clearance to say shit that isn’t true,” Kelly snapped.

“We’re here because Adam has been feeling like shit for _weeks_ for _no reason_ and its _Blake’s_ fault,” Mickey said. “The least he could do is at least take responsibility for messing with Adam.”

“Maybe it actually is Adam’s fault,” Kelly retorted. “Ever think about that?”

“It’s not,” Blake interrupted, his voice louder than he meant it to be. He cleared his throat as all eyes turned to him. “It’s not Adam’s fault.”

“Well, maybe you should fucking tell Adam that,” James snapped. “I don’t know what the fuck happened between you two, but fix it. Or I swear we’ll convince Adam to leave this tour. Being around you is obviously not good for him.”

Blake’s eyes widened. James sneered as he turned his heels and marched out of Kelly’s trailer, Matt and Mickey closely following him.

Jesse examined Blake for a second, his gaze so knowing that Blake’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. “He’s probably back at the stadium. Just...be careful.”

Kelly shut her door behind the last Maroon 5 member. “I should’ve asked you this weeks ago, but what happened?”

Blake rubbed his temples, collapsing on her couch. “We almost kissed.”

Kelly blinked, some of her tension easing into confusion. “And...?”

“And nothing,” Blake said, peeking through his fingers. “We almost kissed, you interrupted us, and we haven’t talked about it since.”

Blake knew Kelly packed a punch but he was still unprepared for the pain that shot through his arm. “Ow!”

“You're giving him the silent treatment?” Kelly asked. “Don’t be an idiot. What's wrong with you? This is the definition of making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“It’s more complicated than that!” Blake protested.

“Let’s start _real_ basic,” Kelly said. “You’re a gay man. You’ve had two boyfriends since we’ve met. You and Adam obviously get along. You’re attracted to him—”

“You can’t know that,” Blake sputtered. He tried to be subtle, dang it.

Kelly lifted an eyebrow. She began ticking things off her fingers. “You call him sexy far too often to be kidding, you use every excuse to manhandle him, you check out his ass like it’s your job, you make fucking _puppy dog eyes_ if he doesn't—”

“Ok, ok, you have a point,” Blake said.

“Damn right,” Kelly said. “So what’s the problem? Unless Adam doesn’t swing that way...”

“No, Adam is gay.”

“Then _what_ made you give him the silent treatment? It was just a kiss for Christ’s sake. Not a marriage proposal.”

Blake twisted his wristwatch. “You know what.”

Kelly was quiet for a moment. “You’ve never had a public boyfriend?”

“It’s more than that,” Blake snapped. “I’m not out, Kelly. The boyfriends I had in the past were very quiet and out of the public eye. Everything Adam _isn’t_. You want to know why all my relationships failed?”

Kelly’s confidence faltered under Blake’s heated tone. “...Because you’re a workaholic?”

He rubbed his temples. “Partially. At least that’s what I told y’all. Truth is they didn’t want to be with a man who wasn’t proud to be seen with them. Who wasn’t proud of himself. I’m not ready to be one of the first gay country singers. Chely Wright came out last year and guess what? She’s struggling to find a studio to support her latest album. Who knows how many fans she lost...”

“Chely Wright isn’t you,” Kelly protested.

“She was pretty God-damn popular before her announcement,” Blake said. “Country music isn’t ready for gay singers. And I’m not brave enough to lead that LGBT battle...I haven’t had a long term relationship in a year. They just never works out, Kelly.”

“So you’re giving up before anything can happen with Adam?” Kelly asked. “Don’t be a dumbass, Blake.”

Blake bristled. “Adam doesn’t need another closet case boyfriend.”

“Maybe you should tell Adam all this before you continue to ignore him in order to protect Adam from you or whatever you think you’re doing,” Kelly argued. “He deserves input in _y’all’s_ relationship. He really likes you, Blake. I could tell the first time I saw you two in a room together.”

Blake pursed his lips.

“Is it worth hurting Adam over your bullheadedness?”

It hurt the first time Adam looked crestfallen, almost as much as it did the first time Adam straight-up ignored him.

Not that Blake could blame him.

A part of him—alright most of him—wished Kelly hadn’t interrupted them. The amount he cared about— _wanted—_ Adam scared him. The rock star was fiercely loyal, hilariously hyper, unapologetically witty, and insanely confident. It was hard to believe that Adam hadn’t always been overflowing with cocky assuredness.  Blake wished he had a shred of confidence Adam possessed. Because he knew this tense truce would not have occurred if he did.

When Adam leaned in...Blake never wanted anyone else half as much as he wanted Adam. But then Kelly knocked and Blake cowardly pretended nothing happened.

Adam terrified Blake.

Adam who casually mentioned he was gay like it was no big deal. Adam who Blake felt like he had known for years not months. Adam who was everything Blake desired and more.

Adam who could do better than a closeted country singer.

“Blake?” Kelly asked.

“I need to find Adam,” Blake said. “I need to fix this.”

 

_May 2011_

Flashing strobe lights and pulsing music reverberated in the singers’ lounge turned after party. The NBC lounge was wide with a checkered floor, red chairs scattered around the room and moved to make room for the portable bar cart—He was convinced the sleek bar was Blake’s idea—and gigantic sound system.

The atmosphere was different tonight.  Usually the impending Battle Rounds pressed down on a portion of the contestants. Tonight, the room resonated with relief and excitement (and a tinge of nervousness most people determinedly ignored). Tonight was the evening of the last Battle Round. Next week the Live shows started.

But that was a worry for another day. Adam swallowed a tequila shot. Tonight was a celebration. And The Voice guaranteed two things: awesome vocal performances and kickass parties.

All the coaches plus Carson Daly made an appearance tonight. Blake was the only coach to attend all the after parties, but Adam was positive Blake stayed for the company and free booze. His coach was determined to utilize every available moment for forced team bonding. It was as annoying as it was endearing.

All the teams were down to six contestants, which was only slightly terrifying, and Adam already got along well with Jermaine and Raelynn. The other two country singers, Brent and Chelsea, seemed chill the little Adam had interacted with them. Honestly, the only teammate Adam had an issue with was Patrick. But Patrick had an affinity for fedoras and wearing sunglasses indoors so was it really that much of a loss?

“I’m so glad Jermaine made it,” Raelynn said, dancing around Adam. Adam eyed her drink distrustfully before deciding it was, in fact, just soda.

“I had no doubts,” Adam said, nodding his head across the room where Jermaine was immersed in a conversation with Blake. “He had so much more control than Vincent. Plus the song was better suited for his voice, not that Blake did that on purpose. Probably.”

“I just can’t believe we all made it to the Lives,” Raelynn squealed. Raelynn had been Adam’s very pleasant shadow and had practically adopted Jermaine—an impressive feat for a sixteen year old girl, but Jermaine accepted it with his usual ease—the second time of the trio hung out. “I’m so excited and anxious I think I’m going to hurl.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Adam said.

“I’m mostly excited though,” Raelynn said. “Plus my parents are definitely more supportive of my musical dream now. It’s no lawyer, but I think that they’re finally seeing a viable career for me in the music industry.”

“You’re going to make it far, Rae,” Adam said. “That I know for a fact.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Raelynn said, grinning at Adam’s confident tone.

“Have you met our coach?” Adam asked. “He’s determined to help all of us. Plus I hear he can help you out in the country music scene. It's kind of his forte.”

“True.” Raelynn beamed. “He can still help you after The Voice, right?”

“Blake is just lucky I’m so versatile,” Adam said, stretching lazily.

“Don’t forget humble,” Raelynn teased.

“Oh yeah, humble and fucking talented,” Adam said. “That’s me.”

A loud scoff managed to drown out Raelynn’s snort. Adam turned to see a disdainful Patrick—minus sunglasses but with the usual fedora—holding a beer primly. Adam raised an eyebrow as Patrick took a slow swig of beer.

“That’s big talk for such a whiny voice,” Patrick said, clearly more than a little buzzed.

Adam rolled his eyes. Really? This again? People had insulted Adam’s voice for years. But those people were generally in the music business and knew what they were talking about. Or had _years_ more of musical experience. Patrick had neither of those things. Adam was determined for Tabetha to mark the last person to make him insecure about his voice. “Surprisingly ballsy comment from a pussy.”

Patrick’s face grew thunderous. Adam maintained his cocky expression, pretending he wasn’t aware of the nearby crowd. No coach or director/producer/friendly dictator who intimidated Adam was around, only a few gawking contestants, crew, and musicians. It’s like Patrick actually planned this. Shame all that potential planning for shit-talking had completely no impact on him. Patrick was just a douche trying to pull the same tactic Tabetha used. Adam could handle it.

“You think you’re such a badass, don’t you?” Patrick asked.

Adam frowned, glancing at Raelynn who glared at Patrick. Oops. Better make sure she didn’t do anything dire. Adam could talk shit. But Raelynn should definitely not participate in shit talking, especially when it centered around protecting Adam's supposed wounded honor. “It’s not that hard to come off like a badass when you’re here.”

Patrick cocked his fedora dramatically. “Think you have a way with words just because you’re a songwriter?”

“Yeah actually,” Adam said. “It’s in the job description.”

Patrick blinked before sputtering, “You think that...”

“Patrick, shut up,” Julia Simms interjected from nearby. The Cee Lo team member frowned heavily at Patrick from her perch in the cushy red chair. “What are you even trying to accomplish?”

“I just don’t like arrogant people,” Patrick muttered, glaring at Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be mad just because Adam could out sing you even if he’s exhausted _and_ has a hoarse throat,” Raelynn said.

“Really? You’re team Adam too?” Patrick scoffed. “It’s bad enough our coach has an obvious favorite—”

“Blake doesn’t let his personal feelings affect his coaching,” Adam interjected. “As you should know since he’s managing to help an ass like you out.”

“What did you do to get his favoritism?” Patrick continued, invading Adam’s space. “Hand job? Let him fuck you?”

“This is probably hard for you to understand, but Blake is a genuinely nice guy and he wants to help all of us,” Adam said, taking a step away from Patrick. He was not allowing Patrick to rile a reaction from him. 

“I notice you’re not denying the accusations,” Patrick said.

Adam blinked slowly. “Accusation is a strong word. Shooting piss seems more accurate.”

“You’re surprisingly calm about fucking with another guy,” Patrick reiterated, clearly not liking the lack of reaction from his over-aggression.

Adam rolled his eyes. “As a gay man, I’m into that type of thing. Surprising, I know.” He threw Patrick a calculated glance, smirking as the blond shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe all you need is a good dick up your ass. Help relieve some tension. I know some guys with really low standards that you could try.”

Patrick gaped.

Adam patted his shoulder. “Just tell me when—if—you change your mind.”

Adam was still smiling when he shifted to a nearby table, catching an amused glance from Julia.

“Is he still frozen?” Adam asked.

Julia's smirk widened as she peered past hishoulder. “Yep. I think you broke him.”

“It’s a talent I have,” Adam said.

“What was his problem?” Raelynn asked, still glaring back at him.

“He likes playing mind games,” Adam said. “He fails at them, but he tries. So A for effort.”

“Are you really gay?” Julia asked.

“Yep. I’m quite a big fan of the d,” Adam said. “Huge fan really. The d does good work. Gay sex for the win.”

Raelynn’s eyes widened. But not for the reason Adam originally thought.

“Good to know,” a familiar country twang said, a warm arm casually wrapping around Adam’s shoulders.

Adam’s face might literally be on fire. Julia looked ready to burst and Raelynn looked torn between laughing at Adam and distracting Blake. Adam tried to relax his shoulders and act natural. He failed.

“Come on, Adam. Let’s get away from the girls. I’m cornering all of my team members tonight,” Blake said. “Don’t go anywhere, Raelynn.”

Raelynn waved as Blake steered Adam towards the bar, barely waiting for their backs to turn before she joined in Julia’s laughter.

“So what percentage of your blood is alcohol?” Adam asked as Blake signaled the bartender for another drink. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that the cackles were from a different duo.

Blake looked thoughtfully into his fresh cup of whiskey. “At least 20.”

Adam tsked, face still on fire. But he was determinedly not looking at Blake. “I expected more from you, Shelton.”

“I suppose I could drink more to accommodate you,” Blake said dryly. “My mom will be thrilled.”

“She probably put vodka in your baby bottle,” Adam dismissed.

Blake hummed. “That makes so much more sense.”

“I wanted to tell you years ago, but your mom, lovely lady, near and dear to my heart—”

“What’s her name?”

“I really just think of her as my best friend, my confidant, mi amiga—”

“You can spew a surprising amount of shit for such a little person,” Blake interrupted.

“Everyone is little compared to you,” Adam retorted, pointedly staring up at his amused coach. “What are you 8 foot 9? I could climb you like a tree.” What the fuck? No Adam. Have a brain to mouth filter. He barreled on without glancing at Blake. “How does it feel being Bigfoot’s cousin?”

“He gives exceptional Christmas gifts,” Blake said.

“Really? He just seems like a sock-giver.”

Blake frowned at Adam. “He has more taste than that.”

“Maybe he’s just sucking up because he wants you to buy him an island,” Adam said. “After all his stress from the press, Bigfoot deserves some solitude.”

Blake choked on his drink. “An _island_? How rich do you think I am?”

Adam shrugged. “How much does an island go for nowadays?”

“I suppose it depends on the location,” Blake said after a moment.

“In this economy, they’re probably on sale,” Adam mused. “Now is the time to buy.”

“Stick with singing,” Blake advised. “Practical business strategy is not suited for you.”

“Fuck you. I could be a great accountant,” Adam said.

“Just not _my_ accountant,” Blake said.

“So fucking rude,” Adam said. “You’re terrible for the morale.”

“I miss the days you respected me enough not to curse around me,” Blake said.

“Now I respect you enough _to_ curse around your precious virgin ears,” Adam said. “You’re welcome.”

Blake rolled his eyes.

“So why did you drag me over here?” Adam asked. “Or did you just miss me?”

“I don’t know how my heart survives whenever you’re not near,” Blake said.

Adam scoffed, taking a swig of beer.

“I’m just touching base with my team, seeing what the general feeling is,” Blake said.

Adam gave Blake a thumbs up.

“And a single thumbs up from Adam,” Blake said, his blue eyes focusing on Adam much more intently than was fair for someone who drank as much as Blake. The country singer could really hold his liquor. “I’ll put that down on the official records.”

“I don’t know,” Adam said after a pause. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet. These past couple weeks have been weird. I’ve been working, hanging out here...”

“Bugging Lucas,” the country singer added.

“Lucas at least tolerates me,” Adam said. Lucas wouldn’t allow Adam to consistently crash The Voice’s musicians’ practice otherwise.

Blake hummed, swirling his whiskey in his glass. “You’re not going to freak out and think your voice sounds like shit again, are you?”

“Oh, Blake, your tact makes me swoon,” Adam said.

Blake smiled at Adam but made no move to speak.

Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I...I hope not. The Voice was overwhelming at first and I let Tabetha psych me out. All together, not a great start.”

“The Voice and Tabetha brought out feelings you’ve harbored for years,” Blake said. “I just don’t want them to resurface. You’re so talented, Adam. You need to realize that.”

Adam felt one side of his mouth twitch. God damn earnest country boy... “If I ever doubt it, you’ll be the first person I call. If this whole singing thing doesn’t work out for you, you should become a therapist or motivational speaker.”

Blake snorted. “I’m just glad you realize my door is always open.”

“You mean your phone is always on,” Adam corrected. “I don’t know where you live.”

“You know what I meant—”

“Actually, you don’t know where you live,” Adam interrupted. “Really that whole saying was just a mess from the beginning.”

Blake sighed. “I told you not to talk to Carson.”

“Carson approached me,” Adam said. “I couldn’t just be _rude_. He's a producer and has power and shit.”

“You could actually,” Blake disagreed. “I give you full permission to be rude to Carson.”

“Such a bad coach,” Adam said forlornly. “Terrible influence. I should’ve gone with Christina.”

“Christina doesn’t have my humor,” Blake protested.

“She gives you a hard time,” Adam mused. “Clearly, she has the right priorities.”

“I'm not feeling appreciated,” Blake said.

“Is it tearin’ up your heart?” Adam asked somberly.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Really? Nsync?”

“Dude, you have no idea how much alcohol brings out my love of boy bands,” Adam said, brain-to-mouth filter evaporating in the face of Blake’s mirth.

Blake chuckled. “Is that right?”

“ _Or_  how many times I’ve drunkenly impersonated Justin Timberlake.”

“That I’d love to see,” Blake said.

“Oh no,” Adam said. “Definitely not.”

“I have power over your live song,” Blake threatened. “I can easily make it a boy band song.”

“Yep, definitely moving to Team Christina,” Adam said.

Blake chortled. “Christina is friends with Justin. I’m sure I could talk her into an homage.”

“I hate you.”

Blake grinned, slouching against the bar until their arms were pressed together. “If you thought that you never would’ve chosen me as a coach.”

“You’re mistaking pity for good judgement.”

“How many fights have you been in because of that mouth?” Blake asked.

“Not as many as people think,” Adam said.

“Huh.”

“I told you: I give off a cut throat city attitude,” Adam insisted. “It’s handy.”

“They see the tattoos and they think you’re tougher than you are,” Blake said.

“That was my sole motivation behind inking up my body,” Adam agreed dryly.

“Where else are you tattooed besides your arms?” Blake asked, blue eyes flickering down Adam’s body.

Adam’s eyes sparkled. “No place people see on a first date...or in the middle of a crowded room.”

“You could start a trend,” Blake said.

“I’m sure everyone will instantly follow my stripping trend,” Adam agreed. “Also FYI: Rae’s mom is picking her up soon, so you might want to talk to her before she leaves...”

“Just real quick, before I go,” Blake said, shifting so he faced Adam. “I didn’t know you were gay.”

Humor vanished as Adam’s face went blank. “Is that a question?”

Blake shrugged. “Just surprised is all.”

“I didn’t tell The Voice because I didn’t want the fact I was gay to distract from my performances,” Adam said. “I wasn’t bullied horrendously in school and I only had a few shit closeted boyfriends. Nothing terrible so I probably would've fucked with their gay sob story. I’m definitely gay, but that’s not how I want to be solely defined.”

“Makes sense,” Blake said.

Adam eyed Blake tentatively. “This won’t be...a problem will it?”

Blake laughed softly. “No, Adam. That is most definitely not a problem.”

_November 2011_

Adam sat behind Matt’s drum set, twirling one drumstick between his fingers and hitting the other one to a steady beat. Blake had half-heartedly hoped that Jesse’s tip would turn into a dead end. Blake was bad with confrontation. The country star steeled himself as he forced one foot in front of another onto the stage.

The beat stuttered and hazel eyes widened as Blake approached the drums. Adam fumbled with the drumsticks, placing them in his pocket as he stood up.

“What’s up?”

Adam’s—far too casual—question pierced the relative silence. The stadium would hold twenty thousand screaming fans tomorrow night. The echo of Adam’s question seemed eerie now.

“You play more music than anyone else on tour,” Blake said. “You make me look bad.”

Adam’s face relaxed minutely. “It’s all part of my plan to take over the tour.”

His flippant tone sounded forced, but Blake ignored it. Dang it, he really needed to just tell Adam. “I think the crew will still side with me.”

Blake will work his way up to it.

“I’ll bribe them with beer,” Adam said. The Maroon 5 singer stood a good seven feet from Blake. But those seven feet felt like seven miles.

Fuck, Blake’s plan got harder when Adam was actually in the room.

He twitched restlessly at Blake’s silence. “So...”

“We need to talk,” Blake blurted. “About...that night.”

Adam stiffened, his face closing off. Not that it was exactly open before. “Finally deeming it necessary to soothe the angsty musician?”

“What? No.”

“What then?” Adam snapped. “Because, in case it escaped your notice, we haven’t spoken for two weeks. Fuck you very much. What’s changed?”

“Besides your band visiting me?” Blake asked.

Adam’s face paled. “I didn’t send them.”

“I figured,” Blake said. “Just listen to me for a second.”

Adam gave the go ahead gesture, his face unreadable under the onslaught of emotions.

Blake steeled himself again. This was for the best. He zeroed in on Adam’s eyes. “We almost kissed. We didn’t. And, frankly, that was a good thing.”

Adam flinched before the singer forcibly crossed his arms and cleared his face. Or at least attempted to. Blake forced himself to continue.

“I don’t feel that way towards you, Adam,” Blake said. “I’m sorry if I ever gave the impression that—”

“We’re not in fucking high school. I can take it,” Adam interrupted forcibly. “You didn’t have to ignore me for two weeks until informing me. Unless that was supposed to be letting me down fucking easy. I get it. You aren’t attracted to me. You don’t like dicks. It’s whatever.”

Words escaped from Blake’s mouth before he could pull them back. “I’m not straight. I’m gay.”

Adam jerked his head back. “What?”

“I’m gay.”

Adam stood frozen, his eyes moving rapidly as he processed this information. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Blake shifted uncomfortably under Adam’s betrayed gaze. “You never asked.”

“Fuck you, you never asked me, but I still told you,” Adam said.

“Not everyone is as confident as you, Adam,” Blake snapped.

Adam jerked forward. “You fucking made me this confident. Silly me thinking that meant you had a shred of bravery.”

Blake bristled. “You’re asking more than me just accepting who I am. Newsflash, Adam: The world does not revolve around you.”

“I don’t think it does, asshole,” Adam snapped.

“I’m out to people who matter,” Blake retorted.

Adam's face fell before he twisted it into a snarl. “You don’t want to be together because you’re not publicly out?”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“You _know_ I’m coming out as soon as I’m with somebody I’m committed to,” Adam spat.

“And you think that would’ve been us?” Blake asked, not processing the words until it was too late.

Adam’s face hardened until a stranger was glaring back at him. “Why would I think I could have a long term relationship with a fucking coward?”

“If you can’t act professionally, maybe you should leave the tour,” Blake snapped.

Adam’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re getting onto _me_ about acting professionally? Fuck you, Shelton. Fuck. You. You can’t lecture about professionalism after... _after_...”

“After what?” Blake pressed.

“You fucking know what,” Adam snapped. “I can’t believe I trusted you. I thought you were somebody that would be honest with me about _everything_.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake said, too heatedly to do anything but further piss Adam off. And piss him off he did.

“Don’t talk to me, Shelton,” Adam hissed. “Just leave me alone.”

Adam stormed off the stage, deliberately marching around Blake. Blake stood frozen in the middle of stage long after he slammed the door behind him. Adam always had a knack for getting under his skin. Blake should’ve come in more prepared for Adam’s inevitable, accurate barbs.

This hurt impossibly more than Blake expected. He knew Adam deserved someone who could handle the inevitable media shitstorm, support the frontman under the public’s intense scrutiny and flung insults. Blake was not that person. He wasn’t brave enough to come out for himself let alone protect his significant other. Blake spent far too long in the shadows to contemplate walking into the public spotlight.

He was a coward.

Blake knew this, but it was necessary. Blake had to stop their relationship from turning into anything grossly over-complicated and full of hurt. Yet why did ending his and Adam’s relationship that never had a chance to take root hurt more than Blake’s last brutal break-up? He rubbed his temple, fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn’t make a mistake. This was for the best.

He dragged his cell phone out of his pocket, not even waiting for his friend to say hello before he started talking.

“Luke, you in Nashville?” Blake asked without preamble.

_“Yeah...you alright?”_

“Let’s meet up. I need a drink.”

 

* * *

 

James and Mickey jerked away from their rummy game, cards strewn haphazardly around the table. Maroon 5 shared their tour bus with Blake’s other opener, a country singing duo Bucky and Rick. Adam had never been more grateful the duo had family in Nashville so they weren’t spending the night in the tour bus.

“Adam, you ok?” Mickey asked hesitantly.

Adam had no idea what his face looked like. His anger vanished as soon as he closed the stadium doors behind him. Rejection always stung but never like this. Fuck, he and Blake hadn’t even done anything. Yet Adam still felt like screaming, sobbing, and slashing tires.

He slumped on a nearby chair, unresponsive.

The worse part of it was that Adam knew he would never get his and Blake’s easy friendship back. But apparently they weren’t that close anyway.

 _I’m out to those who matter_.

Adam doubted Blake would have ever told him he was gay. Probably because Blake knew that Adam was attracted to him.

Not that Adam liked the prick now. Holy fuck, he never imagined Blake would react to an unwanted romance like this. Asked any time prior to the not-kiss, Adam would insist that Blake would let him down in an impossibly kind, earnest way which would inevitably lead Adam to become more attracted to him, but that was water under the bridge now.

Blake was just so...surprisingly immature and petty.

Yet, despite the fresh argument, Adam struggled to repress all of the times Blake made Adam feel impossibly light and warm—and there were a fuck ton. Another wave of despair rushed over Adam. He could just see him and Blake working out; working out until they were old enough everyone forgot what their music sounded like.  He and Blake had an immediate connection from the start. That was why Adam chose Blake as a coach.

He shook his head. God, this is why he shouldn't daydream. His feelings didn’t matter. Blake wasn’t interested. The country singer made _that_ abundantly clear.

“Adam?”

Adam blinked, half-surprised to see the tour bus doused completely in light. The rest of his bandmates sat around him.

They were all varying states of worry. Adam forced his gaze away from James and Matt, who both were beginning to look angry. Adam was sure his friends knew who caused this.

“It’s fine,” Adam said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not, dude,” Matt said.

Adam grimaced. “Everything is just fresh right now.”

“What happened?” James asked.

“Did you talk to Blake?” Adam asked.

James stared back unapologetically. “Yes. What did he say to you?”

Adam ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t even bring himself to reprimand his friends for yelling at Blake when they didn’t know any of the details. He felt so drained. “I probably should’ve told you what caused me and Blake to avoid each other.”

Jesse gripped Adam’s arm, but he refused to look at his friend.

“It’s so stupid really,” Adam said. “We almost kissed, we didn’t. But damage was done, you know? Blake avoided me until today. And today—”

“What happened?” Mickey asked. Adam glanced up. Fuck his friends looked pissed. Worried, but pissed. 

“Don’t do anything to Blake,” Adam said. “Don’t threaten him, don’t talk to him, and don’t do anything because you thinking you’re protecting or defending me.”

“You’re not really endearing Blake to us,” Matt said.

“Short version: He rejected me,” Adam blurted. “It happens. I’ll get over it.”

“We had no idea,” Jesse said, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do you want to pull out of touring?” James asked. “I don’t trust how Blake will treat you.”

Adam shook his head. “We’re still going to tour. This is good experience for us. Besides, if people think I can’t work with Blake, they’ll think I’m impossible to work with. We can’t really afford that reputation.”

“We don’t care what everyone else thinks,” Jesse said. “If you want us gone, we’ll pack up tonight.”

“We’re staying. I can be a professional,” Adam said.

“We know _you_ can,” James said. “But can Blake?”

Adam pursed his lips. “I don’t want to think about Blake. I’m just gonna head to bed, guys.”

Adam lurched out of the chair, not waving to acknowledge their hurried good nights. Hopefully they wouldn’t be up too late plotting Blake’s demise. He knew Jesse at least would rein them in from actually _doing_ anything.

The singer tumbled into his wall bunk, sliding the curtain shut. He stared at the top of his bunk blankly, his mind buzzing too much for sleep. He reached to the wall by his head, groping until he found the cubbyhole with his worn, black notebook. He opened to the first blank page he flipped to and, letting all his pent up emotions escape, just wrote.

_I am in misery_

_There ain’t nobody who can comfort me_

_Why won’t you answer me?_

_Your silence is slowly killing me_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next chapter is finally up! I'll be honest, all my college classes are starting to pick up assignment-wise so I'm not sure how frequent my updates will be. Let's aim for one chapter every 2 weeks (which I think might just be a tad longer than my current updating speed)! So fear not! I'm not abandoning the story, just going slower. Enjoy!
> 
> Also I hope your week is looking better, Peabody!
> 
> Timeline:
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011 – Adam starts touring with Blake  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger at The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“Oh! This one is for you, darlin’!” Blake exclaimed, pointing across the chairs and smiling at Adam.

Adam smirked, still reeling from surprise. Out of all the songs the contestant could pick....

“ _Hey mama, I’m something_

_Check it out, see what it’s all about_

_Cause this is soap disco, so charming_

_See the floor from a cleaner point of view...”_

Adam hadn’t even _thought_ about Kara’s Flowers for years. Pharrell and Gwen just frowned at Blake and Adam, Blake still grinning like a proud fucking parent.

Was this a call out for Adam? Plenty of contestants sang a coaches song to attract their attention. It was a ballsy move. But he knew there were hardcore Kara’s Flowers fans that _despised_ Maroon 5. So maybe it was a warning to stay out...? But that was highly unlikedly.

Adam closed his eyes. Potential ulterior motives aside, The Voice was not about him. The point of The Voice was that the artist’s voice was the only factor determining their worth. Not their appearance, not their name, and not their song choice.

Okay, the song choice had a little influence.

The frontman listened as the contestant swept through Soap Disco’s verses. Her voice was clearly classically trained, which was an odd mixture with Soap Disco. Honestly, Adele would suit her much better. But she made the best of it. More than the best of it, really. She managed to make Soap Disco into a good song.

Adam glanced down at his fellow mentors. No one had turned their chair around yet and there were only ten seconds left. He felt the camera zoom in on his face.

Would she benefit his team? He definitely didn’t have anyone like her yet. But this song, despite her clear powress, was not a good choice for her. Soap Disco didn’t do her voice justice. Adam loved her tone though...

Fuck it. She took a risk on Soap Disco so he’ll take a risk on her. He pressed his button as she belted her last note.

He cheered as she covered her mouth with her hands. Her brunette hair curled around her face as she brought her head back up to stare at Adam. She grinned.

“So sorry, I made you worry, sweetheart,” Adam said. “I was thrown by the song, but definitely enticed by your voice. What’s your name?”

The contestant visibly tried to collect herself. “I’m Margret Thompson.”

“Hey, Margret,” Blake said warmly. “I also apologize for Adam’s belated turning around. I did tell him to do so at the beginning of your song—solid choice, by the way.”

“What song was that?” Gwen asked. 

“Soap Disco by Kara’s Flowers,” Margret said.

“Adam’s band that was signed right out of high school,” Blake clarified.

“I know the band wasn’t a success but...” Margret trailed off.

“Hey, it worked!” Blake said. “You got Adam’s attention! And he’s a lucky bastard to get such a powerful voice on his team. So where are you from?”

“I’m from Chicago,” Margret said. “I’ve lived there the past 34 years. I first moved there to pursue my dream as a showgirl singer. But I put my dreams on hold after my husband of ten years passed... My kids have always supported me and now that they’re old enough, I took a chance on The Voice a-and you don’t know what it means to me that you turned around.”

The audience awed and clapped as tears ran down Margret’s face. Adam jumped out of his seat and bounded the few steps on stage, wrapping his arms around a tearful Margret. She smiled.

“You’re fantastic,” Adam said. “I’m so glad you’re on my team.”

Margret gave him a watery smile. “You have no idea what this means to me. I’m so glad it was you that turned around.”

“We’ll make amazing things happen,” Adam said. “Welcome to Team Adam.”

Margret smiled at the onslaught of applause that followed her out the door.

“She’s sweet,” Gwen said. “I hope she makes it far.”

“Oh how little you believe in me,” Adam said in mock hurt, curling back into his chair. The blonde shook her head at him, smiling.

“You’ll take her far,” Pharrell said.

"Thanks, man."

“I believe in you too, boo,” Blake called as their chairs turned around.

Adam rolled his eyes at the audience’s laughter. “You’re not a teenager. Stop.”

“OMG,” Blake said with a surprisingly straight face. “What’s your deal? I thought it would be you and me 5-ever. Hashtag Shevine is Devine.”

“You pain me.”

 

_December 2011_

Blake should be prepping for his performance, relaxing backstage, or going over his playlist with the crew and band, but if his musicians and crew didn’t know the show by now then something was wrong. Point was, Blake should literally be doing anything other than watch Adam sing from the side of the stage.

But performing was the only time Adam truly looked content. Instead of allowing his emotions to distract from the performance, the Maroon 5 singer feed all his pent up stress and melancholy into whatever song he performed. It made for an engaging show, even if it was a little bittersweet.

He turned as a familiar blonde presence appeared by his shoulder.

“It’s your own fault for completely ignoring my advice,” Kelly said, her heat finally lost after the repetition of this sentiment. She had been saying it for a week now.

“I know,” Blake said, still soaking in Adam. It was nice to be able to obviously stare at the singer without any repercussions. Or any aggressive bandmates keeping the country singer at bay. If any crew member doubted Adam and Blake’s dispute, Maroon 5 easily confirmed it, despite Adam’s many hissed warnings. Not that Blake could fault them in their hostility.

“You lied to him about your feelings,” Kelly continued. “Worse, you made it so he wouldn’t want to poke you with a 6 foot pole unless there was a blade attached to it.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Blake said tiredly. “It was for the best.”

Kelly turned to him. “Do you believe it when you say that yet?”

Blake grimaced at her. “Despite your meddling, I’m going to miss you.”

“As to be expected,” Kelly said primly, thankfully allowing the lack of answer. “I’m just worried no one will be around to call you out on your shit.”

“Oh trust me,” Blake said. “There’s plenty of people for that.”

Hank cornered Blake the day after Blake and Adam’s confrontation—tension rose exponentially between the two. Hank was torn between grudging concern and reluctant reprimanding. Hank never had been a fan of drama. And, as Hank’s least dramatic client, his manager was disappointed in the country singer’s apparent tiff with Adam. As days past with no change, Hank’s frown grew more pronounced. But he had yet to intervene again because Blake and Adam continued to avoid each other and successfully entertain the crowd each night. So, technically, they weren’t messing up the tour. They were just making things awkward and tense for the crew.

“If you need to talk about anything,” Kelly said. “Just call. I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but it’s because I care about you.”

“I know,” Blake said. “I just...I know I made the right decision.”

 _Maybe_.

Kelly made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

“But this hurts,” Blake said. “Not just Adam ignoring me or his band’s barely contained hostility, but just his face when he thinks no one is looking... His nonchalance cracks and he’s just...so angry and upset and _hurt_. And I caused that. After all I went through to protect him from the music industry’s backlash and make up for everyone’s insults, I end up being the worst contributor.”

Kelly studied Blake. “If it hurts this much now, how is this a better alternative to you and Adam dating?”

Blake pursed his lips. “Adam deserves better.”

“Adam wants you,” Kelly said. “Or at least he did. Love makes people stupid, Blake.”

Blake’s heart thumped. “Adam doesn’t love me.”

“Who says I was talking about Adam?” Kelly asked, watching the Maroon 5 singer close his eyes as he crooned into the microphone. “Love makes people irrational. Even when they think they’re trying to protect them.”

Blake’s rejection hadn’t worked out like he planned. He anticipated his own melancholy but he assumed it would be tainted with other lighter emotions. But he wasn’t satisfied that he protected Adam from another secret relationship or pleased that his own status as ‘closeted country boy’ remained unthreatened or even relieved that he hopefully pushed Adam down the path to find a stronger partner that was worth wading through the media shitstorm for. The only feeling left in Blake was misery. His rationality backfired into pure pain. Blake knew it would hurt, but just seeing Adam around—and this was with the frontman actively avoiding Blake and otherwise pretending he didn’t exist—reminded Blake of what could have been. And it was fantastic.

Blake thought he could successfully restrain all his non-platonic feelings towards Adam. But when he discovered those feelings were very much mutual...

His decision was for the best.

The blonde’s eyes glimmered knowingly. “I just don’t want you to live in regret for how you treated Adam.”

“Too late for that,” Blake muttered.

“You can still fix this, Blake,” Kelly said. “You just have to decide if Adam is worth the effort.”

Blake bit back his instinctive retort. Defend Adam or lie and say he wasn’t worth it, both options led to a sharp Kelly rebuttal. So he took the cowardly path—but what was new?—and remained quiet.

Kelly sighed heavily. “I’m going backstage. Don’t fawn too obviously or else your mixed signals will confuse and irritate Adam even more.”

Blake ignored her in favor on immersing himself into the Maroon 5 performance. The band was covering Won’t Go Home Without You. Originally sung by Jesse McCartney, but, like most songs covered by Maroon 5, written by Adam. Blake knew during The Voice that Adam would make it far. The fact that Adam was a skilled songwriter merely added to his inevitable success.

Blake bit his lip. Adam’s already blazing trail in the music industry was part of what scared Blake away from a relationship with the man. If only Adam was still behind the scenes and the media didn’t know his name...The country singer instantly clamped down on that thought. Adam more than deserved the success he had coming.

Adam swayed against the microphone stand, his voice strong, but his posture hunched and the circles under his eyes dark.

Damn it, Blake said no so Adam would bounce out of his attraction with Blake and move on to someone better. Blake’s own misery was well deserved. But Adam’s was not.

 “ _—Just give me one more chance to make it right_

_I may not make it through the night_

_I won’t go home without you...”_

Blake knew he needed to talk to Adam. Not necessarily to profess his feelings to the singer, but he definitely wanted— _needed_ —to mend their relationship. Adam’s presence was a constant he took for granted the past eight months.

It wasn’t fair that Blake essentially knew Adam’s feelings towards him (Adam saw future them in a deep committed relationship for Christ’s sake, which equally terrified and excited the country singer if he allowed his brain time to process). But Adam was clueless to his.

“ _Of all the things I felt but never really shown_

_Perhaps the worst is that I ever let you go_

_I should not ever let—_ ”

Blake jerked out of his head and nearly ran on stage at Adam’s abrupt halt. The band continued playing, not yet aware of the extra presence on stage. Blake moved forward at the initial sign of alarm on Adam’s face. The fan had practically flung herself at him. Blake hadn’t even seen her climb on stage. His face twisted at Adam’s flinch. A tight hand gripped his forearm, making Blake retract his first step. The country singer glanced down to see Hank.

Hank grimaced. “Security is taking care of the problem. Don’t be an idiot.”

His eyes swept back to the stage, the dull roar of the audience covering what the fan yelled at Adam. Adam’s panic had melted into a forced smile and an awkward wave as he handed the drunk fan to security. Adam rubbed his ear. He laughed into the microphone. “She scratched my ear with her nail. What the fuck? Everyone gets excited, but let’s try to maintain our distance, yeah?” Adam glanced back at his bandmates. “Take it from the next verse?”

“Kelly is singing a couple extra songs tonight since this is her last show,” Hank said, still studying the stage. “And our PA is already prepping the first aid kit.”

“Don’t forget that Bucky and Rick play after Maroon 5,” Blake said in an overly helpful tone.

Hank leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Then that gives you plenty of time to talk to Adam.”

Blake blinked as Hank turned vanished from his side.

“ _I won’t go home without you_

_I won’t go home without you...”_

 

_June 2011_

“What are we doing today?” Raelynn whispered. All The Voice contestants sat restlessly around the conference room. Cee Lo and Usher stood by their contestants but, for once, Blake appeared to be running late. He and Christina had yet to grace the slightly anxious room with their presence. Each team, through familiarity or convenience, sat with their teammates. Brent and Chelsea were stuck entertaining Patrick. Even though there was a large possibility Raelynn convinced the other country singers to act as a buffer between Patrick and Adam. Patrick, after he got out of his absolutely deserved shellshock from Adam’s awesome quips, continued to be quietly aggressive around him. Patrick might grow out of it the same day he realized fedoras made him look like a douche.

Adam cocked an eyebrow at the younger singer, her signature cowgirl hat replaced by an intricate pattern of braids Raelynn insisted she did on lazy days. “As the only all-knowing member of this team I can confidently say... _stuff_.”

“Going over ground rules for the live shows,” Jermaine said as Raelynn rolled her eyes.

Adam nodded sagely. “Like I said. Stuff.”

“What would we do without you?” Jermaine asked dryly.

“Suffer,” Adam said. “Obviously.”

“Not get yelled at by Heather,” Raelynn said.

“That was _one_ time,” Adam said, shifting in his black chair. “Besides, it was mostly aimed at me.”

“She considered us accomplices by association,” Raelynn protested.

“You’re lucky she didn’t skin you alive for delaying Blake’s interview,” Jermaine said.

“It’s not my fault he can’t keep a straight face,” Adam said.

“I don’t think Heather saw it that way after eleven takes,” Jermaine mused.

“Heather most definitely didn’t see it that way,” the director agreed, entering the room. A hush fell over the contestants and coaches. “Going to keep the interruptions at a minimum today, Adam?”

Adam grinned sheepishly. “You stole the words right out of my mouth.”

Heather frowned as she glanced around the room. She turned to Usher and Cee Lo. “Where are the other two?”

Usher shrugged. “Christina and Blake weren’t in their trailers when I headed over here.”

“They’ll come soon,” Cee Lo said. “Blake is rarely late and I’m assuming Christina is with him.”

Heather hummed. “Well, let’s get started. First, I’d like to congratulate all of you for making it past the Battle Rounds. I know this show is overwhelming and highly competitive. All of you have done a great job adapting.”

A small round of hesitant claps went around the room.

“Now, the Live shows are a different ballgame,” Heather said. “Each week, as those familiar with the format know, The Voice will have two shows. On Monday night, we’ll have a two hour timeslot to show each of your performances to America and the following coach critiques. Tuesday nights are the eliminations. Week one and three, after a random draw, will be the week Team Blake and Team Usher perform. Team Christina and Team Cee Lo will perform week two and four.  We have a fairly simple format the first two weeks. It’s in week three the show gets...interesting.”

“Interesting usually doesn’t reassure the contestants like you think it does,” Blake said, holding the conference door open for Christina. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Take a seat,” Heather gestured.

“Glad you made room for us in your busy schedule,” Adam murmured as Blake plopped into the empty chair next to him.

“I need to talk to you,” Blake whispered loudly.

“Blake, please stop distracting the contestants,” Heather said, giving the country artist a stern look. Adam frowned at Blake but turned back to the director. “So something to look forward to during elimination night—yes, there is something to distract from your nerves—is that each team will perform with a popular band or singer of their coach’s choice. Week one is Team Usher, then Team Cee Lo, Team Blake, and Team Christina.”

Excited murmurs mixed with dark grumbles. Team Christina and Blake drew the short straw. The chances of those remaining contestants performing with actual successful musicians—besides their coaches—were slimmer.

“First week, you guys are performing with Pink,” Usher told his team.

“Wow,” Tony Lucca murmured.

“I love her music so much,” Rita Reyes said, dark eyes wide.

“No pressure, Blake, but our person better beat them,” Raelynn told Blake.

Blake's smile didn't reach his eyes. Adam pursed his lip. Was it too soon to question Blake? A wave of unease went over him. He forced himself to clamp it back down. Blake's current apprehensive mood probably—hopefully—didn’t have to do with Adam. He did have a life. Adam's optimism didn't stop his eyes from constantly flickering to his coach.

“I’ll do my best not to embarrass y’all,” Blake reassured.

“Now, I just want to reiterate how these are all _live_ shows,” Heather said, drawing attention back to her seat at the head of the conference table. “While we want a smooth show, we also don’t want to be in the headlines of tomorrow’s news. Watch your language, actions, and remember that we have _millions_ of people tuning in. Do not be offensive.”

“Hear that, Adam?” Jermaine said, prodding Adam out of his increasingly gloomy thoughts. “No swearing.”

“How fucking dare you imply that I talk shit,” Adam retorted. “I’m a motherfucking saint. The only words that come out of my mouth are pure and awe-inspiring.”

“...But if something slips out,” Heather continued, “we have a five second delay so you will be censored. If you have any other questions about the show, just find me or one of the coaches. This should be just a refresher from what you signed in your contracts.”

“I skimmed it,” Raelynn whispered. “Is that bad?”

“The Voice’s contract is a basic show contract,” Blake rumbled from Adam’s right. “So you’re fine. But please don’t skim any future contracts.”

“Just make Blake read it,” Adam said. “He won't let you get fucked over.”

“Now before I release you to your mentors,” Heather said. “The music studio that will sign the winner of The Voice is here to say a few words. Everyone, please welcome Charles Plaza from Almatrax Records.”

Adam stiffened.

Blake threw him an apologetic look. “I just found out this morning that The Voice changed music studios from last season.”

“It’s fine,” Adam murmured, attention already stolen by the opening conference door. Adam forced himself to clap as Plaza slid through the door and smiled around the room. Their eyes connected. Adam’s mild hope that Plaza would ignore him flew out the window. Fuck.

 

_June 2012_

“Blake, stop being weird,” Adam ordered. He arrived in the singer’s lounge roughly thirty minutes ago—which was still surreal for Adam since he was not actually competing—and his initial nerves and awkwardness of hanging out with the season 3 contestants had rapidly vanished. Namely because he was assaulted by a gigantic, overly affectionate country singer.

“You’re being dramatic,” Blake said. The contestants had also long since lost their distantly awed air and now just sprawled around the lounge enjoying the show. Adam was currently hanging around Blake’s team. But that was hardly his fault.

Adam deftly dodged Blake’s grabbing hands again. “Why are you such a fucking caveman? Christina will kill you if you take me hostage.”

“Oh sure, play the whole ‘I’m performing with a diva’ card,” Blake mocked.

“It’s a good card to play,” Adam argued.

“It depends on the diva,” Blake said.

“Who beats Christina? Seriously?”

Blake paused from his attempts to grab Adam. “Touché. Now stop fighting the inevitable, rock star.”

“I’m belatedly teaching you manners,” Adam said. “Dorothy will thank me.”

“What’s it like sharing a stage with Christina?” one of Blake’s contestants—Mercy?—asked from a nearby white couch.

“She’s really fun,” Adam said, glancing at her reflexively. And a second was all Blake needed. He yanked the Maroon 5 singer into his lap, firmly wrapping his arms around Adam. He grunted but otherwise gave no indication of his change in position. “She brings a great energy to the stage and makes you raise your game just because she always sounds so on point.”

Adam sighed as Blake nuzzled his back. And Blake asked _him_ to be subtle about their relationship. Yet he was the one clinging to Adam like he would die without direct contact. Not that Adam could complain too much... He shifted into a more comfortable position, relishing in the familiar warmth of Blake's lap. “I think she was also wondering if Christina hogged the stage.”

“No more than you, Big Country,” Adam said. “You proud of yourself? Using your own team against me?”

Blake shrugged and Adam pretended not to feel his colossal wave of smugness. “Mercy has good instincts.”

“You didn’t even freak out,” another of Blake’s team members said.

“You get used to grabby Bigfoot _real_  quickly,” Adam said.

“You know what they say about big feet...” Blake drawled.

“You can always count on Blake to revert you back to schoolyard humor," Adam told Blake's team.

“See? I’m life-changing in more ways than one,” Blake said, nodding.

“And humble,” Christina said, cocking an eyebrow at the intertwined duo.

“You are where all my humility comes from,” Adam said.

Blake rolled his eyes.

“Not that I want to break up this bromantic cuddlefest, but Adam and I do need to kick off the show,” Christina said.

“Such a shame Moves Like Jagger was a such a hit—” Blake said remorsely.

“Phenomenal, global hit, yes,” Christina interrupted, winking at Adam.

“People will forget I ever had any involvement with Adam,” Blake finished. “I’ll be cast aside...”

Christina snorted. “Yeah, I doubt _that’s_ every going to happen.”

“As I recall,” Adam said, “I have been your sales pitch this entire season.”

"Your tour shirt was a great addition to this season's Blinds," Blake said.

“He’s going to use you forever,” Christina groaned. “It will be so annoying.”

“You just have to step up to my coaching level, little girl,” Blake said. Christina’s gaze went momentarily murderous before she gave the country singer a dazzling smile. Which was part of the reason Christina frightened Adam.

“Right, well I’m leaving before you incite your own murder,” Adam prompted. Blake made no move to let go of the smaller man.

“Also the show starts in literally four minutes,” Christina added. “Heather may actually kill you, Blake, if you don’t get into position soon.”

“Good luck, Adam,” Blake said, wisely releasing the Maroon 5 singer. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Adam smiled down at Blake before following Christina, his forgotten butterflies returning in intense turmoil. He took a deep breath with no prevail. Fuck, he’s performed here before. He’s performed _live_ before. So why does he still feel slightly nauseous and incredibly clammy?

He was a fucking professional— _professional._ Fuck. Still a strange thought—musician whose band sold millions of copies of their first album. Yet here he was, mentally freaking out. Blake attempted to soothe Adam and give his tension a new outlet, but even his boyfriend’s mouth gave his nerves momentary reprieve. Adam knew nothing terrible would happen if he fucked up this performance, but this was _The Voice_. He was the love child they wanted to show off to the world. That pressure made this performance worse than any other.

“Stop overthinking,” Christina ordered.

Adam blinked, realizing he followed the diva on autopilot to the stage. He nodded belatedly to his bandmates.

Christina’s face softened. “You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Adam said. “What if I forget lyrics? What if I hit the wrong note?”

“What if you make a human mistake?” Christina finished mildly. “Just be grateful you’re performing with me. I’ll cover up any potential mistakes you make.”

Adam chuckled, shoulders easing slightly.

“But you won’t need it,” the diva said, smoothing out Adam’s collar. “Don’t let The Voice revert you to audition you. You’ve grown so much since then. You got this, Adam.”

Adam grinned, nerves not quite abated but it’s difficult being a complete bundle of nerves when Christina Aguilera reassures you.

“Plus you know you have one die-hard fan that will never stop cheering,” Christina said. “And he’s in the very front row.”

Adam nodded, torn from completely relaxing at the mention of his boyfriend in the audience and tensing that Christina assumed—rightly—that Blake’s presence would help. Adam breathed out slowly. Blake was his coach and everyone knew they had always been close. Using Blake to soothe Adam’s nerves was logical.

“See you in a bit,” Christina winked, whisking herself offstage to await her cue.

Adam steeled himself as the crowd cheered and Carson Daly began his spiel on the other side of the stage. “...And, kicking off our live show, is season 2’s Adam Levine with coach Christina Aguilera performing the song that took over the radio waves this summer: Moves Like Jagger!”

The cheering grew impossibly louder as the backlight turned on, illuminating Maroon 5. Everything—the crowd, Carson’s words, Blake’s face—faded out out as the music started. Adam grinned, waving briefly to the crowd, letting the music sweep aside the rest of his nerves. He swayed with the music.

_“Just shoot for the stars_

_If it feels right_

_And aim for my heart_

_If you feel like...”_

Adam’s grin widened. He would never be over crowds singing with him. He winked at Blake and clutched his microphone. All the coaches—Blake, Pharrell, and Shakira—were already nodding along with the music, but nothing could beat Blake’s enraptured smile.

_"And take me away and make it okay_

_I swear I’ll behave...”_

 

_June 2011_

Plaza’s grin sharpened. Adam was reminded of his first—inaccurate—impression of Plaza: a friendly refuge from the rest of LA’s music studios. Now he just reminded Adam of a shark.

“All of you are so talented,” Plaza gushed. “I have to say, Almatrax definitely doesn’t regret agreeing to sign on an unknown artist. All of you deserve a record deal and I genuinely mean that.”

Adam restrained his scoff and glanced around the room. Yep, contestants were beaming at Plaza. It’s hard not to like someone when they begin a meeting throwing compliments at you. Everyone’s attention was glued on Plaza. Except for Blake. Blake was watching him. Adam struggled to make his face less dubious.

“I’m sure many of you don’t know who we are,” Plaza said modestly. Almatrax was _very_ well known in the musician’s world. “But Almatrax  _has_ been responsible for releasing the majority of the Top 20 hits in various genres the past decade or so _and_  for introducing the world to new talents like Kesha, Katy Perry, Rhianna, Brad Paisley, and OneRepublic.”

He let the excited murmur build up around the room. Adam stared hard at the sweating water bottle in front of him. Plaza had embraced his nice guy façade long before Adam entered his office in 2000. Adam was fooled initally. But, despite all this, he longed for the other contestants to not willingly latch onto every word that passed Plaza’s lips.

Plaza used his self-imposed title as cutthroat producer too literally. When he didn't have a crowd to cater to. Adam knew firsthand the struggle to catch a break in the music industry. The producer shouldn’t say meaningless nothings just to get on the contestants’, and therefore The Voice and NBC's, good side. Adam knew that out of these 24 fantastic musicians, Plaza might not even sign a single artist if one of them walked into his office, unassociated with The Voice. The number of talented musicians—Adam was not referring to himself—Plaza rejected over the years astounded him and some of his fellow songwriters. Plaza always looked for a very specific sound depending on the current trends. If you didn’t match that sound, you were out of luck.

“I am one of Almatrax’s many producers,” Plaza said. “But my specialty is recruiting new talent for Almatrax, which is why they sent me today. Talented people don’t get turned at our door. We embrace what others cast away. We give struggling musicians a chance.”

A snort escaped from Adam before he could clamp down and fortify his, hopefully, vaguely polite, neutral expression. A dark expression crossed Plaza’s eyes before he covered it with a laugh. Adam pretended he didn’t see other contestants’ frown and Blake’s concerned blue gaze. The other coaches seemed to realize the connection between Adam and Plaza. Only Heather and Christina looked unsurprised. But both women's gaze sharpened on Plaza.

“Adam, knows firsthand that we make space for _all_ talent, not just singing,” Plaza said, “which, let’s be honest, singing is not everybody’s strong suit. Adam has been an Almatrax songwriter since...When was it?”

Adam’s neutral expression must be failing. Because Raelynn’s beam tampered into a scowl. “Early 2000, I think,” he said, after quickly deciding a one word answer would make him seem petty and an exact answer would reveal to Plaza how much Almatrax completely altered Adam’s life.

“And you’re a fine songwriter,” Plaza said like he revealed a secret.

Adam nodded. For once, it was safer to just stare at Plaza so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge other people’s reactions.

“I’ll be honest, I was beginning to wonder where you were finally vacationing to,” Plaza said. “Imagine my surprise when you managed to snag a spot on The Voice. I suppose they're changing their standards for the second season, eh?”

“I was surprised when Adam told us how he never got signed despite his band’s demo,” Blake inputted, southern accent not quite covering his ire. “I didn’t think any studio would be stupid enough to pass on him.”

Adam blinked at Blake’s sudden defense. Plaza looked equally as thrown, but years of practice led him to quickly covering his ass. “Adam wasn’t what Almatrax was looking for at the time, but we’re very ecstatic that he’s made it this far into the competition.”

“Thanks, man,” Adam said hurriedly, cutting off whatever Blake was about to say. Blake grunted, sitting back in his chair only after Adam's pointed look.

Plaza nodded, fake grin widening. “Like I was saying, we strive to give every artist a chance to succeed in the industry. Almatrax looks forward to working with any of you in the future. Good luck with the rest of the competition!”

A smatter of applause went around the room, some of the contestants still glancing back at Adam and Blake.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Heather said. “I hope you have a safe trip back to your office.”

“It was no problem,” Plaza said. “I assume I was a pleasant break from all live rules lecture. Such as not misrepresenting your employer.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed minutely. “Indeed. Do you need help to the parking lot?”

Plaza’s grin did not flicker. “Not at all. Good luck everybody!”

Adam had never been so grateful for Heather’s no nonsense attitude. “Now, everybody is released to the mentors. Remember Team Usher and Team Blake are kicking off the live shows next week. Prepare for the live shows and good luck.”

Adam glanced back at his team while the other contestants began to shuffle out. Even Patrick had a semi-sympathetic look on his face, which he covered as soon as he and Adam made eye contact.

“Welp,” Adam said flippantly. “That was pleasant.”

 

* * *

 

“So guess which music studio is signing on The Voice winner?” Adam asked, lounging on James’ couch. James handed Adam a cold beer, closing the French doors behind him. James, like Adam, had a makeshift recording studio in his house. But James, unlike Adam, generally played with other musicians— _Mickey and Jesse_ —in said studio. It’s been literal years since Adam just played with his ex-bandmates. The part of him that craved to join them had only been growing since his arrival on The Voice.

James’ eyes widened, plopping on the loveseat adjacent to Adam. “No.”

“Yep,” Adam said, taking a gulp of beer. “And think who they _specifically_ sent?”

“Not Dick Plaza.”

“Of course, Dick Plaza,” Adam said. “He was his usual half-insulting, very misleading self. Told everyone in the room that they all deserved a record deal.”

“After he saw you in the room?” James asked.  “He realizes that he literally denied you a record deal.”

Adam shrugged. “He just wanted to suck up to NBC executives. Sound nice. Say BS. The usual.”

“Doesn’t NBC have a bullshit detector?”

“Oh yeah,” Adam nodded. “In the form of a very lovely Heather...who still scares me.”

“Poor Adam,” James cooed, patting Adam’s knee.

“You say that now, Jamison, because you’ve never met her,” Adam said. “She’s quite formidable.”

James shrugged, emptying his own beer bottle. “So how did people react when Plaza inevitably critiqued your voice?”

“He critiques everybody’s voice,” Adam dismissed.

"To people he's schmoozing? I think not. But he's always made a special exception for you."

"I'm just lucky that way."

James studied Adam for a moment. “What did Plaza say?”

“He only implied that I’m not a skilled singer, as usual, and that he was shocked I got onto The Voice at all,” Adam said. “He was actually tame since he had an audience. I’ve heard worse from him. He doesn’t bother with tact if you’re not one of Almatrax’s clients.”

“How did that work out for him?” James asked.

Adam flushed, hazel eyes flicking to James’ TV. “Blake was pissed.”

“Really?” James asked gleefully.

“Yeah, Plaza backed off pretty quickly after Blake chimed in,” Adam said. “It was a tad awkward when we left the conference room. Blake kept apologizing—for not warning me, I guess. Rae was worried, Jermaine sympathetic, and the rest of my team were just blindsided that Almatrax is the music studio I referred to. I don’t know. No one really said anything to me about it except for Blake. But it’s whatever. It doesn’t really change anything in the competition. Everyone still wants to win.”

“Including you?”

“Of course, including me,” Adam scoffed, smiling slightly. “You know how competitive I am.”

“Good,” James said. “I wasn’t sure if...”

“Plaza would send me spiraling into the dark abyss of unending depression?”

“Not to that extent, but basically yeah,” James said. “Your confidence in your own voice hasn’t been this high in years and I didn’t want Plaza to rip it apart again.”

“Plaza was a contributor to my self-doubt,” Adam said. “But he definitely wasn’t the source. It was mostly my own fault. I got lost inside my head and let others influence me too much. I didn’t start actually liking my voice again until...”

“The Voice?”

“Blake,” Adam said. “He’s such a genuinely great guy. I don’t know, man. I came in assuming that the coaches just got involved enough for some decent footage, but Blake is there every step of the way. For everybody. He wants what’s best for you. You can just tell. I’m so glad I went with my gut and chose him as a coach.”

“I need to meet this guy,” James said.

“You would love him,” Adam said. “Blake gets along with everybody.”

James’ grin dimmed when his phone buzzed.

Adam prodded James with his foot. “What?”

“Suzie is struggling with a song,” James said. Suzie got hired on as an Almatrax songwriter a few years after Adam. As such, they were both Almatrax veterans. He and Suzie collaborated whenever their genres crossed, which wasn’t often since Suzie specialized in country and folk music. “One of the artists featured in a Gym Class Hero song dropped out and is refusing to let us use anything that even sounds remotely close to her original lyrics.”

“ _Suzie_ is writing for a Gym Class Hero song?” Adam frowned. “Why?”

“Almatrax wanted one of their more experienced songwriters to help smooth things over,” James said. “And Suzie had less on her plate since she finished writing with Brad Paisley last week.”

“Why is an experienced country songwriter better than a newer, I don’t know, rap or pop writer?” Adam asked. “Suzie is great but...”

“Oh yeah, trust me, she knows. She’s just a tad out of depth,” James said. “Almatrax is just flipping shit because Gym Class Heroes was scheduled to record their new album this week and now one of their leading songs is missing half of its lyrics. So now Gym Class Heroes’ manager is peering over Suzie’s shoulder until she’s finished.”

“Shit,” Adam groaned sympathetically. “That’s a hellish mess.”

“It would’ve been your hellish mess if you weren’t on The Voice,” James said. “Suzie wrote some pretty solid verses, but everything keeps getting rejected by the band’s manager. It’s frustrating her.”

“Shouldn’t leave girls frustrated,” Adam tsked.

James rolled his eyes. “You know how much it sucks catering to a client with a very specific sound in mind you can’t duplicate.”

“Was the manager in love with the original lyrics?” Adam asked knowingly.

“That the featured artist wrote before she walked out? Like a high school sweetheart.”

Adam hummed. “I can help Suzie brainstorm. Almatrax and the manager breathing down her neck is probably hurting her creativity.”

“I have a recording of the track you can borrow,” James said.

“Really? With you? Here?” Adam asked. “Did you just con me into helping Suzie?”

“I knew you would help after explaining her plight,” James shrugged. “Suzie listened to the song on repeat for the last 48 hours and wants to shoot herself. She’s willing to listen to any fresh suggestions.”

“Give me the recording,” Adam said. “I’ll listen to it after the Lives performance.”

“Very understandable, dude,” James said. “Thanks.”

“Anything for Suzy,” Adam said. “She helped me when I first wrote some country. She’s an angel.”

“She got arrested for assault last year,” James said.

“No charges were officially filed,” Adam dismissed. “Besides, she likes _me._ ”

“Lots of people like you,” James said. “I don’t think I can make it through a day at Almatrax without someone asking how you’re doing.”

“You sound so frustrated,” Adam teased.

“I support you, but maybe you could pop by occasionally and inform people on your progress?”

“Hmm,” Adam hummed. “Nah, I don’t think so. You can remain my groupie. You’re welcome.”

“Damn,” James said before his eyes flickered mischievously. “Viewing parties are officially commencing on Monday.”

“Lovely,” Adam said. “Just what I wanted to hear: All my colleagues getting drunk by a television and judging me. You attending?”

“Fuck no,” James said. “I’m going to use the friend card and support you from backstage or from very awesome seats.”

“I’m glad you’re making that sacrifice,” Adam drawled.

James smirked. “So what song are you singing Monday?”

“One of ours,” Adam said. “It was Blake’s idea.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Now, now, that’d be telling,” Adam said.

“You have no idea, do you?” James asked, shifting in his loveseat.

“I’m between like three songs. Blake and I are narrowing down the selection tomorrow.”

“Blake does know all,” James said.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Give me the recording, Jamison. So I can save the day again. The life of a hero is not as gratuitous as it used to be.”

“You’re such a saint,” James drawled.

“A saint that’s your ticket to NBC,” Adam reminded.

“A saint _and_ a model human being,” James said.

Adam saluted James lazily with his beer bottle. “Damn straight.”

 

_December 2011_

“I’m fine. She’s not infected,” Adam protested. The moment he was off stage, Hank ushered him to Tina, the PA turned medic. Maroon 5 stayed backstage to help put up their instruments and joke with crew. Pretty much anything but watch Adam’s ear get wrapped. Or whatever Tina was planning. Jesse only came because he insisted that Adam was a terrible patient. “ _Ow_.”

Jesse’s patronizing expression grew impossibly smug. “That was just Tina swabbing it.”

“Thanks, Doogie,” Adam drawled.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Jesse continued. “I bet your ear doesn’t hurt at all.”

“I never— _ow_ what are you _doing_ —said it didn’t hurt,” Adam protested. “It was fine _before_.”

“Sorry,” Tina mumbled.

“He’s just being whiny,” Jesse dismissed. “He’s like this every time he gets a pathetic injury.”

“Her _nail_ scratched the inside of _my ear_ ,” Adam said. “Who is used to that hurting?”

“Poor Adam,” Jesse cooed unapologetically. “So how are you going to bandage him up?”

“You’re a hippie,” Adam muttered. “You’re supposed to care about this type of shit more.”

“It’s easier if you just ignore him,” Jesse advised Tina.

The corner of Tina’s mouth twitched. “I’m not really sure how to wrap his ear without him looking insane. I figured I’d just clean and disinfect it.”

“Good idea,” Jesse said. “Even though Adam looking insane would make his actual insanity less of a surprise.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Adam said.

Tina giggled nervously.

“Tina, don’t fall for Jesse’s wiles,” Adam warned. “Didn’t your mother warn you against musicians?”

“You’re a musician too, dumbass,” Jesse said.

“I’m not the one turning Tina against me,” Adam retorted.

“Just doing my job,” Tina reminded.

“I didn’t know you were a part-time medic,” a familiar country drawl trickled in from the door. Adam stiffened. Jesse turned to the door, his previous teasing mood vanishing.

“Nah, I just do whatever Hank throws at me,” Tina said, far more comfortable with Blake than she was with the Maroon 5 members. Of course, even her familiarity with Blake didn’t make her immune to the obvious rise in tension. She quickly swabbed Adam’s ear with something slimy and jerked back. “Speaking of, I should probably go see if he needs anything else. Good luck tonight, Blake!”

“Thanks,” Blake called to her retreating form. The country singer fidgeted in the doorway, his blue gaze flickering to everything in the room but Adam.

“Did you need something?” Jesse asked coolly.

Blake hesitated briefly. “Just wanted to make sure Adam is ok.”

“Nice that you finally have that concern,” Jesse said.

Adam gingerly touched his friend’s arm. Jesse glanced down at Adam, his cold gaze thawing slightly. “Right here, guys. The cut ear does not magically make me deaf.”

“Shame, that would’ve been such a great sob story for PR,” Jesse said.

A ghost of a smile crossed Adam’s face before he turned to his ex-coach. Blake stared intently back at him. He looked uncertain but determined and worried and...pleading? His stomach coiled, but the frontman remained intrigued despite himself. He looked up at Jesse. “I’m going to talk to Blake. Okay?”

Jesse paused before nodding. He stared at Blake distrustfully as he swept out the door, reluctantly shutting the door to the supply room.

This was the first time Adam had been alone with Blake since...

“So what the fuck do you want?”

Blake flinched at the open hostility.

“Discover more reasons why you’re glad we don’t associate?” Adam asked.

“No I was just...I was worried after that fan climbed on the stage and...” Blake trailed off uncertainly. Adam wasn’t used to such meekness from the country star.

“I’m fine, obviously it wasn’t critical,” Adam said, bouncing down from the table Tina forced him to sit on. He pretended not to notice Blake stiffen at Adam’s close proximity—it’s not like the supply room was all that large. “If that was all...”

Adam didn’t purposely leave an opening. He wasn’t slowing his exit to give Blake a chance to say... _something_. Adam honestly wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. His exit was unhurried because he was a fucking professional who definitely didn’t have a problem being in an enclosed space with the country singer who smelled distinctly like pine.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” Blake said.

He jerked. “No, you don’t get to look at me with those wide, puppy dog eyes. You can’t fix this with a belated, half-assed apology.”

“Dang it, I wasn’t done talking,” Blake said. “Listen to everything I say before you mock.”

“What makes you think I even owe you that much?” Adam challenged.

“ _Adam_ ,” Blake pleaded, his blue eyes wide and earnest.

Adam leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

Blake released a shaky breath. He suddenly looked lost. Adam refused to let his instinct to comfort Blake or make him laugh do more than make a fleeting appearance. “I...don’t know where to begin.”

Adam let the silence stretch. “Well, not that this talk hasn’t been enlightening, but...”

“Wait,” Blake said hurriedly, despite the Maroon 5 singer doing nothing more than straightening.

“Spit it out,” Adam snapped. “I don’t particularly want to spend the rest of my night here and you _do_ have to perform in an hour.”

“I lied last week,” Blake said.

Adam felt like his breath was snatched out of his lungs. Fuck knows what his face looked like. Unlike Blake’s which looked pleading and hopeful. Fuck him. He stomped on Adam’s heart last week, after two weeks of petulant silence. Double fuck him. “About what exactly?”

“I...do have feelings for you,” Blake said in a rush. “I have for a while in all honesty...I want you so much it terrifies me. I haven’t felt like this for anyone, Adam. When we almost kissed...Everything felt right. Everything always just feels so right with you.”

Adam clamped down on his facial muscles. His instant hope could not make an appearance. “Yippee. Thanks so much for deeming me worthy of your affections. Such a weight off my shoulders.”

Blake’s hopewantworrydetermination deflated at Adam’s dry tone. “Adam...”

“What, Blake?  I’m not a fucking trained monkey that entertains you at your leisure,” Adam snapped. He faltered briefly. “You...really hurt me last week. If that’s how you treat people you supposedly care about, I don’t think I want to fall into that category.”

“Adam, I was wrong,” Blake protested. “I thought that it would be better for you if we weren’t a couple.”

“Bullshit,” Adam dismissed.

“I did,” Blake retorted, frustration finally leaking into his voice. “I’m very much in the closet, in case it escaped your notice—”

“You even have a beard,” Adam mocked.

“I never said Miranda was anything but my friend,” Blake snapped before visibly reining in his temper. “I remember you ranting about the last boyfriend you had that wasn’t out. I didn’t think you wanted to go through that again.”

“Well, _fuck_ Blake thank you _so much_ for deciding all this for me,” Adam yelled. “You know how much I detest making personal decisions.”

“You _hated_ having to hide who you are,” Blake continued. “You described that relationship as toxic. I didn’t want to be that for you.”

“Damn it, that wasn’t your decision to _make_ ,” Adam snapped.

“I didn’t want to hurt you!” Blake shouted. “And that’s what our relationship would do!”

“You don’t _know_ that!”

“It would be another hidden relationship,” Blake said. “More so since we’re both very much in the public eye. Your last secret relationship was before people cared what brand of deodorant you used. What makes you think our relationship would do anything but implode? What makes your think that another closeted boyfriend would be any better?”

“Because it’s—” _You_. Adam’s forced cutoff wasn’t soon enough. “If you still harbor these assumptions about our _hypothetical_ relationship, why did you even bother to tell me your real feelings?”

Blake opened and closed his mouth. The taller man slouched in on himself. “I don’t know.”

A tightness in Adam released. He refused to acknowledge the escaping shred of tender, wistful emotions.

“Because I want to try,” Blake said softly. “I miss you, Adam. I miss the fun we had, the easiness of our conversations. I never—”

“Stop,” Adam said.

Blake halted midsentence, staring at the Maroon 5 singer with his fucking big eyes.

Adam stared coldly at Blake. “You should warm up for your and Kelly’s duet.”

He forced himself not to look back as he marched through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 2015 section of my story is based off the tumblr prompt "A fic where someone auditions for the Voice with a Kara’s Flowers song and Blake is the only one besides Adam who recognizes it–or one where Blake assigns a Kara’s Flowers song to one of his team members in order to bug Adam" from The Shevine Project. http://theshevineproject.tumblr.com/post/127036266144/request-prompts-writers-needed


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sppppt. It's almost time for the new season of The Voice :D
> 
> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger at The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“I will murder you,” Adam threatened.

“Now that’s not a very family friendly thing to say,” Blake reprimanded, leaning on Adam’s chair. “Heather will be displeased.”

“I will flay your skin and wear it like a coat.”

“Not much of an improvement. Was that supposed to an improvement?”

“I’ll chop you into tiny little pieces and sell you as southern seasoning,” Adam continued. He resolutely ignored Pharrell’s chuckles.

“You saying things like this is why the tabloids think our relationship is constantly in strife,” Blake said.

“That’s two— _two—_ people you’ve stolen from me in a row,” Adam said.

“You just can’t compete with my coaching powress, darlin’,” Blake said, laying a hand on Adam’s leg. “You’ll get there in a few seasons. You should try and get a contestant that does phenomenally well and eventually becomes a Voice coach. I find that helps a lot.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “And if you say that you sculpted me _one more time_ —”

“But I like sculpted,” Blake protested. “It makes me sound smart.”

“For an Okie,” Adam added.

“Yes we can’t think much past the next time we can brutally murder a woodland creature,” Blake said agreeably.

Adam leveled him with an unimpressed look.

Blake widened his eyes, strategically lowering his bottom lip.

“Really?”

Blake slowly blinked his blue eyes. “What?”

“You can’t pull the aww shucks I’m southern and tough card and then _immediately_ pout like a two year old,” Adam chastised. “I know you’re secretly a flighty five year old at heart, but at least pretend for the cameras. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Blake tsked. “Everything always comes back to you, doesn’t it?”

“Obviously,” Adam said. “Look how tiny I am! Clearly I need love and nourishment.”

“Don’t aww that,” Blake reprimanded the crowd. “He batted his eyes. He didn’t spontaneously turn into puppies.”

“I think he’s on par with an adorable pile of puppy dogs,” Gwen said.

“ _Thank_ you,” Adam said. “That’s really all I ever wanted to hear.”

“It’s his really intense, ‘feel bad for me’ stare,” Gwen continued. “It’s surprisingly effective.”

“I used to like you, Stefani,” Adam said. Gwen waved her fan at him.

Blake laughed, patting Adam’s leg. “There, there, angsty rock star.”

“I’m not angsting,” Adam protested. “I’m channeling my inner pile of puppy dog adorableness.”

“Isn’t that a demotion from Sexiest Man Alive?” Blake mused.

“Nothing can beat a pile of puppies,” Adam said solemnly. “How dare you imply otherwise.”

“Pharrell could beat a pile of puppies,” Gwen said. Pharrell’s face convulsed at the audience’s cheer and Blake’s booming laughter.

“That goes without saying,” Adam said. “Pharrell is on my side though so the point is moot. Right?”

“Uh...” Pharrell said.

Adam shook his head at the producer. “Blake tainted you.”

“Places,” Heather called.

“I’m gonna nab a country singer, just you wait,” Adam said, whipping back to his boyfriend.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Adam scowled.

“Blake, Adam, places.”

Adam turned to Heather. “I’m _in_ my place! Blake is the problematic one.”

“Stop encouraging him,” Heather scolded.

“Yeah, you’re a bad influence on me,” Blake said.

“Go and sit down, Shelton,” Adam said.

“Ooh last name,” Blake said, smirking as he sauntered back to his chair. “Someone is getting competitive.”

“ _Skin_ you alive, I fucking swear,” Adam said.

“He does love me,” Blake addressed the crowd. “It’s hard to tell sometimes under his swearing and threats, I know.”

“Keep one eye open tonight,” Adam warned.

“Love you, darlin’,” Blake called back sweetly.

“Love you too, now shut up so I can steal an artist from you.”

Blake chuckled as Heather sent out the next contestant.

 

_June 2011_

Adam paced backstage. The bustling behind-the-scenes made him constantly feel like he was in the way, but the need to pace—and Heather’s restriction on where the contestants could wander—made him care less and less.

The Lives didn’t seem real until last night. Yes, Adam and Blake practiced a fuck ton, which varied from actual musical advice, inevitable dicking around, and a few practice runs on The Voice stage. Blake must practically live in the NBC studios based on the sheer amount of time he spent with Adam alone. Multiply that by six and even Adam was overwhelmed. His already enormous respect for his coach grew.

But Adam lost himself with the energetic pace and fun. He knew logically that he was on The Voice for the competition. Yet Adam felt so at home at the studio that the he forgot to stress. Raelynn, on the other hand, freaked out so often after the live guideline meeting last week that Adam no longer panicked when she turned into an incoherent, rambling puddle. He could successfully reassure or sidetrack her anxiety in under a minute now.

Adam’s own distracted state of zin came to a screeching halt last night.

When he jerked awake because he was fucking performing _live_ on _millions_ of people’s TV screens. Everyone knew who he was now. And by everyone, he meant Voice fans. The auditions and Battle rounds already aired, which Adam refused to watch other than the other contestant’s auditions—an intimidating exercise Adam recommended to no one competing on a reality show. 

The contestants even got official Twitter accounts and were encouraged to tweet, during episodes specifically but also in general. The number of followers Adam gained overnight made him nearly drop his iPhone. And that number would only increase as the season progressed.

If Adam made it to the later part of the season.

God and who knows with the Lives?

At least he didn’t perform first, Jermaine had that pleasure. Then Usher’s Tony Lucca took the stage. Adam was third in the Team Blake lineup, fifth performance overall. Competitively, Adam didn’t have as many similar artists as Raelynn, who was one of the three country singers on Team Blake. His closet—genre-wise—competition on Team Blake was probably Patrick, but Patrick’s voice was grittier and, unsurprisingly, deeper than Adam’s. Jermaine was the only soul singer on Team Blake, which Adam felt threatened his standing more than the country artists. And, of course, everyone had fucking amazing vocals. Even Patrick.

Of course, none of his threat analysis actively considered all The Voice contestants. Adam might die from anxiety if he did. 

Heather had all the contestants on a shorter leash this show. They practiced waiting at the side of the stage to transition smoothly between acts, but she reminded them they had a 45 second _emergency only_ grace period after Carson introduced the prerecorded practice montage the editors compiled for each contestant.  Heather seemed prepared for a mini massacre if they so much as thought about dawdling. Blake claimed she eased up later in the season.

“Adam,” Blake said.

Adam blinked before grimacing at his coach. If anything, backstage grew more hectic. Fuck, he was definitely in the way.

“Adam.”

“Yeah, sorry, what?” Adam asked.

“I’m dragging you to the singer’s lounge before someone kills you,” Blake said, tugging Adam’s arm lightly as he began walking away.

“Yeah, it just kind of happened,” Adam said rapidly, straightening his leather jacket sleeve down. Fuck, why had he let Blake talk him into leather? It was fucking hot as balls. Adam already sweated enough without the constricting material. “Whenever I worried about being that guy forever in the way, I always got distracted by something. Just...like...the Lives are tonight. What the fuck? It hadn’t sunk in that I was performing in front of millions of people _live_.So any mistake I make will be _immediately_ known to all. And God damn, the fucking viewing party started tonight...For my coworkers and family. Mother fucking hell.”

“So, I’m taking a stab in the dark and guessing you’re nervous?” Blake drawled.

Adam scowled. “No shit, Shelton.”

“That could be my new motto,” Blake mused.

“No shit, Shelton?” Adam asked, blinking. “I think Sherlock would sue you. He has prior claims.”

“I trusted you to be original and witty with all content you provided,” Blake said. “I feel slightly betrayed and let down.”

“All you music artists constantly relying on others to produce your content,” Adam tsked. “Story of my life.”

“All you songwriters,” Blake lamented, “constantly assuming they’re the only ones who can write music. Also the story of my life.”

Adam smirked. “You’d be lost without us.”

“You best lose that us vs them mindset,” Blake advised. “You’re on the track to be a full blown musical artist.”

Adam’s stomach swooped. “I don’t know about that—”

“But I do and I have much more experience in this realm than you do,” Blake interrupted.

Adam flushed. Blake’s constant encouragements were as heart-lifting as they were intimidating. “ ‘This realm.’ Fucking makes you sound immortal or some shit.”

“ ‘Immortal or some shit’ is also in the running for a potential motto,” Blake said.

“Don’t forget to add ‘beeeeeeeeer’ ” Adam suggested.

“Just beer?”

“Yep.”

“With the excessive e’s?”

“It wouldn’t be the same spelt with only two e’s,” Adam said. “Think before you ask shit, Blake.”

“Sorry, that was insensitive of me,” Blake drawled. “I would never deliberately say something offensive to you because I know you always treat me with the upmost respect.”

“Damn straight,” Adam said.

Blake chuckled, slowing as the duo approached the singer’s lounge. Latent butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “Feeling nervous is normal. Just harness that energy and adrenaline to fuel your performance.”

“Right.”

“And just remember we all want you to succeed,” Blake said. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but the competition is relatively tame compared to the later episodes.”

“Fuck, is that supposed to be reassuring?” Adam asked.

Blake smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Just...just look at me if you feel lost. You know I have complete faith in you. It’s surprising what one friendly face can do.”

Adam nodded.

Blake glanced at his watch. “I need to head to side stage now or else Heather might impale my head on a stake.”

“She needs you for filming purposes. Unless you have an identical twin, you’re fine.”

“You say the most reassuring things,” Blake said. “Good luck, Adam.”

Adam nodded again. Blake paused briefly before nodding back and walking away.

“Adam!” Raelynn said as soon as he entered the lounge. Only a few other contestants glanced up, most of them already lost in their own head. Jermaine smiled absently before bowing his head back into his hands, lips silently forming lyrics. “I wondered where you were...The show starts soon and, ugh, everything is just...I can’t...I mean—”

Adam shoved his own nerves aside. “Rae, deep breaths. I swear, I might force you to do yoga with me so you have practice clearing your head.”

“Is that your secret?” Raelynn asked. “You seem way too calm.”

“It’s all an illusion,” Adam said. “But fake it till you make it, right?”

“Fake it till you make it,” Raelynn repeated. “Come on. Let’s distract each other until show time.”

 

_December 2011_

Adam didn’t think twice about their next tour location. It was Oklahoma. He should’ve assumed this would happen. Especially since holidays were around the corner. But he didn’t. Because he’s an idiot.

Going by Hank’s unsubtle flickering glances, the suddenly hushed crew, and silent bandmates, they didn’t expect this either. Small comforts.

“Hey,” Adam answered uncertainly. Familiar blue eyes twinkled under a mane of graying auburn. She propped her hands on her hips, smiling with the same excitement that appeared when Adam first wandered into the room.

“Don’t play shy, sweetie,” Dorothy Shelton, as in Blake’s _mom_ , said. Adam felt cornered by this short, beaming lady. “Anybody who can make Blake laugh that hard on national television is a person I want to meet. Blake is surprisingly camera shy for someone who was in beauty pageants growing up.”

“Beauty pageants?” Adam repeated, mouth on autopilot. He was faintly aware of Blake’s stricken expression. It had nothing to do with beautry pagents either. Shit. Blake’s mom had no inkling of their falling out. Why would she? It’s not like he’s something to write home about. As far as she knows, he and Blake are as close now as they were during The Voice. Closer really. “How cute.”

“He even won a few times,” Dorothy continued.

“Oh, Adam doesn’t want to hear about that,” Blake said.

“I’m sure everyone wants to hear about your pageant years,” Adam countered. Out of habit and partially to infuse normalcy into the situation. Was this normalcy? It was the first time Adam directly addressed Blake since his confession. The words came out easier than Adam thought they would.

“I can tell you even more stories over dinner,” Dorothy said pleasantly. “Blake’s treat.”

Fuck. Adam did _not_ think so. Abort. Abort right now. Without offending Blake’s mom.

“I don’t think Adam wants to join us,” Blake said, too hurriedly to be casual.

“Blake, don’t be rude,” she scolded, her thunderous frown instantly lightening when she turned back to Adam. “You will be joining us, won’t you dear?”

No. No. Definitely not. Eating food with his...with Blake and his mother was not something Adam should do. Hazel connected with blue. Blake’s expression was mostly closed off, except for a shred of hope.

Fucking hell. Why did Blake have to be so fucking optimistic-borderline-idiotic? Adam wasn’t going to an awkward ass dinner. It could only turn out terribly. Where did Blake get off making _moon_ eyes of all things...

“Sure.”

Motherfucker. His mouth was such a dick.

 

* * *

 

Tense relationship or no, Adam forever reserved the right to laugh at Blake whenever his mom dabbed his face with a spit napkin. Adam suspected it was for his own amusement, but Blake just accepted his mom’s seemingly oblivious doting.

Adam, Blake, and Dorothy were seated in the middle of a crowded steakhouse. After the first initial pictures—everybody wanting Blake, but the country singer still put a companionable arm over Adam’s shoulder at Dorothy's prompting. If Adam tensed during all the picture taking, Blake didn’t mention it—people seemed content just leaving the trio be.

“Relax, hon,” Dorothy said, correctly reading into Adam’s silence, but miscalculating the cause. “I don’t bite.”

Adam let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry.”

“So have you been keeping Blake in line?” Dorothy prompted.

It shouldn’t hurt that she asked these questions with The Voice’s “bromance” in mind. It shouldn’t hurt that Adam longed to infuse that same familiarity, ease— _yearning_ —into his and Blake’s current relationship. Adam took a swig of his beer. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

“I’m not _that_ incorrigible,” Blake protested with too much comradery. Adam wondered idly how often Blake hid his true feelings under a teasing exterior. “I’ve been told I’m quite the gentleman.”

“No, you were born with a southern accent,” Adam corrected. Of course, here he was also playing a part to appease Blake’s mother. “It misleads people.”

“I feel like I should be slightly insulted,” Dorothy said.

“You shouldn’t,” Adam insisted. “It’s only because of you Blake is tolerable to be around.”

Dorothy smiled while Adam felt his throat clench. Fucking hell. Adam knew this was a bad idea. There was a _reason_ he was avoiding Blake—namely, the country star made it difficult for Adam _to_ reason. Yet here he was, casually chatting with his not-really-friend-and-most-definitely-not-anything-significant’s mother. Because Adam’s life liked to fuck with him.

And this banter...Adam couldn’t do it. Not while his emotions were still in flux. He focused back on Dorothy's slight frown and the very awkward hush at the table. Shit. Adam grimaced at her and pretended it was a charming grin.

“So I heard you had an up close fan encounter a few days ago,” Dorothy said, breaking the silence. Adam felt Blake’s gaze like a probing touch.

“Yeah, I thought I was being attack. But everything was fine after I opened my eyes and saw it was just a hundred pound drunk girl,” Adam said before frowning. It’s not like a fan clamoring on stage to grab an opener was TMZ-worthy news. “Who’d you hear that from?”

Dorothy laughed. “Who do you think?”

He glanced at a flushed Blake. “He is always a chatterbox.”

“Especially of people he cares about,” Dorothy agreed. Adam didn’t allow his gaze to waver from Dorothy. She turned to her son. “I thought that you were bad last year with the sheer amount of personal investment you had in each contestant. But I don’t think any of them even came close to how much you gushed about Adam.”

“You can’t blame me,” Blake defended. “Adam is unbelievable.”

That wasn’t the misdirection Adam anticipated. He glanced up in surprise only to have Blake’s soft smile greet him. The Maroon 5 singer busied himself with cutting his steak. He was still _processing_ damn it. Blake couldn’t fucking sit across from him with his charming smile and warm eyes and—

“I don’t think I’d go that far,” Adam muttered. Stop talking, Blake. The country singer had officially lost all rights to say anything vaguely complimentary to Adam. It made the Maroon 5 singer sway between flushing and punching Blake’s face. Blake, despite the façade, couldn’t just pretend everything was normal.

“I would,” Blake said. “I still can’t get over all the idiots who rejected you all those years ago. You’re easily one of my favorite vocalists.”

“Good thing you didn’t say this during The Voice,” Adam croaked out, taking a gulp of beer. “Don’t think that would thrill the rest of the team.”

“Raelynn would support me,” Blake said.

Adam couldn’t suppress a slight smile. “Raelynn doesn’t count.”

“Raelynn was the cute young thing, right?” Dorothy clarified. Not that her description was even a little specific but Blake knew who she was talking about.

“Raelynn is great but is too supportive of Blake’s antics,” Adam said. Dorothy was a much easier target to focus on. Until he thought too closely on _who_ she was related to and _why_ she was eager to talk to him...

“She’s only overly supportive if it has to deal with helping or praising you,” Blake corrected.

Adam leaned back, eyes flickering towards the exit. “I never said she didn’t have good taste.”

“You are a rare combination of brains and beauty,” Blake agreed.

Adam choked on his food. This wasn’t the first time Blake directed casual, outrageous flirtations towards Adam. But that was _before._ And it was never dripping with such genuine and open want.

“You’re the whole package, hon,” Dorothy agreed. “Any girl—”

“Guy,” Adam interjected, staring directly at Blake. The country singer’s faux-confidence wavered as he glanced away. Adam felt a vicious wave of disappointment-tinged triumph.

She nodded, smile widening. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“Don’t know about that,” Adam said. Blake shifted. “But thanks.”

“Aww you’re too modest,” Dorothy cooed.

“Oh trust me, I’m not,” Adam said.

“He’s surprisingly modest under his cocky exterior,” Blake said, teasing tone a little more forced than he probably aimed for. “It’s a trick he has.”

“Have to dig a little to get under his layers?” Dorothy asked.

Blake nodded. “It’s worth it.”

Adam felt his face heat up at Blake’s intense gaze. “You make me sound way more deep and mysterious than I actually am. You guys will only be disappointed when you realize that this is all you’ll get.”

“If this is all I get, I’ll still be ecstatic,” Blake said tenderly.

Adam’s eyes jerked up from where they drifted on his plate. Blake’s face was so...fucking soft. He stared at Adam like he wanted to protect him from the rest of the world. Like he would eat him up with a spoon and cuddle him all night. Like he would listen to all of Adam’s concerns and dreams. Like Blake would never purposefully hurt him.

Dorothy cleared her throat.

“I have to go,” Adam said. He needed to get away from the country singer.

“Go?” Dorothy and Blake asked. Dorothy surprised and Blake resigned. Fuck him. He couldn’t fucking pretend everything was normal. He couldn’t act fucking _caring_ and _genuine_ when Adam really needed to hate him. Things would be so much easier if Adam could at least dislike Blake right now.

“Yeah, Jesse needs me,” Adam said, gesturing belatedly to his phone. “Thanks for the food. Lovely meeting you, Dorothy. And I’ll see you later, Blake.”

Adam rushed toward the door without turning to look back at the no doubt confused and slightly irritable Sheltons. Fuck, he thought he would be able to more convincingly fake his feelings, especially to Dorothy, a relative stranger. But no. He had to broadcast his feelings to everyone within a 7 foot perimeter. Fucking ace.

He let out a sigh of relief when the brisk Oklahoma air hit him. He trudged towards the tour buses after realizing that he was both without a car and out of a city with a surplus of taxis.

Blake and Adam’s interactions—his mind darted away from relationship—hadn’t altered much since the country singer’s confession. Their strained communication and unsubtle avoidance was so commonplace, the crew hardly acknowledged it. Hank occasionally frowned heavily at the duo and Maroon 5 still glared at Blake on principle, but everyone else moved on without comment. Honestly, the worst needler was Kelly and she left the tour a few days ago.

Nothing changed. Until today.

Adam managed to avoid Blake and the inevitable reminder of his confession. A confession he was still processing. He mentioned Blake’s declaration to Jesse but the keyboardist only hummed noncommittally, his friend’s brown eyes intently studying Adam. The rest of Maroon 5 hadn’t responded well when they found out Blake cornered Adam—which is why Jesse is now forbidden from ever telling a story again. “Cornered” is an unnecessarily aggressive description of the situation—after his performance. But Adam managed to talk them down from doing anything stupid. He was fine, God damn it.

He _was_ fine. Blake’s confession didn’t completely blow his mind. Adam wasn’t torn between remaining indignant and pissed and ignoring Blake or giving in and throwing himself at the country star. Adam was completely decisive and functional.

He shook his head in a useless attempt to clear it. Blake intentionally hurt him, betrayed his trust. Even if Blake originally did it in some misguided form of protection. Blake just didn’t handle the situation well—not that Adam did much better, honestly. But knowing the motivation behind Blake’s frankly idiotic and callous actions took a weight off Adam’s shoulders. Blake was a dick. But he was a dick because he cared.

Fuck, definitely not a good foundation for a relationship.

And yet...damn it. Why couldn’t his brain and heart fucking agree on something? Just for once?

If only Blake was honest from the start. Quick flashes of stolen kisses and secret smiles swept through his head.

The Maroon 5 frontman groaned. Everything would be so much easier if Adam still didn’t care for the man. But it was hard to pretend to feel nothing after months of comradery and affection.

Why couldn’t Blake have just told Adam he was scared of coming out? That was the root of the problem. Adam would’ve understood. Or at least tried to. Adam was generally open pre-Voice. Of course, he still wasn’t used to random people recognizing him and genuinely caring who he fucked. The amount of attention he received at times made his head spin and made his reclusive tendencies come out in full force. The worst paparazzi encounter happened during his time on The Voice and it was pretty mild in the grand scheme of things. Blake, on the other hand, had years of experience in the spotlight that Adam could only speculate in. Surely the country singer’s fears were just.

If Adam came out as gay...would it really affect his career? Adam was too new to the music scene for the public to have too much of a backlash (probably). Neil Patrick Harris came out and his career was thriving (Of course, that was NPH). Ellen was obviously out at and she’s a household name. But those were celebs are at their peak. It would take a lot to dent their careers.

On the other hand, there were celebrity coming out stories like Clay Aiken’s. And fuck knows what happened to that ex-Idoler.

NPH and Ellen were at the prime of their careers. Something Adam definitely wasn’t anywhere near. He hardly had a fanbase. He didn’t want something as inconsequential as liking dick to fuck over his career before it truly started. Not after all the shit he went through. Not after his unbelievable second chance.

Adam had always been nonchalant about who he liked—namely the male gender. But Blake was right. Adam never dealt with life under the media’s scrutiny. And frankly, the media’s aggressive curiosity unnerved him.

This shouldn’t be a big deal but it was. Why was homosexuality such a taboo topic in Hollywood? If he met Blake at a bar, he’d jump the man in a second. Hell, he was still tempted to jump on him now... Damn it, no. Blake was incompetent with emotions.

Course, so was Adam. He just kept using music as his therapy, much to the band’s pleasure and concern. Fuck, Adam just cared for Blake so much it _hurt_. It hurt to be with the country star, it hurt to be away from the country star. Fuck Adam’s life.

The sky crackled ominously. The first few raindrops began streaming down.

Of course.

 

_June 2011_

Everyone’s songs went without a hitch. It wasn’t fucking fair. Not that Adam actively wished any of his fellow contestants misfortune—except for Patrick because his fedora was pretentious—but some pressure would ease off Adam’s shoulders if _one_ performance was less than stellar.

Adam now waited at the side of the stage, which was actually behind some double doors with a pathway that led to the main stage. Shit this was officially the worst part. Just waiting, knowing his performance was mere minutes away. He gripped his guitar nervously. The worry that he could noticeably fuck up on guitar warred with his ease at having something to occupy his hands.

His gaze flickered to the stage, currently controlled by Rita Reyes. She belted out one final note and the studio burst into applause. She was phenominal. Everyone had been great but none so far had Rita’s pure vocal power. She was a hard act to follow.

Adam turned slightly at an approaching figure. He frowned at Patrick. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t be in the lounge anymore,” Patrick said. “Raelynn’s babbling is now untamed and obnoxious since you aren’t there to converse with her.”

“Raelynn is just nervous,” Adam said.

“Aren’t we all?” Patrick said. He leaned against the opposite wall of Adam. “Playing guitar?”

“Nah, I just thought I’d fondle it fondly before I went out,” Adam said.

“Whatever helps you relax,” Patrick said.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. Patrick’s tone never changed from slightly condescending. He had no idea if Patrick was facetious or serious. “What are you performing?”

“Livin’ On A Prayer,” Patrick said, spinning his fedora around with his hands. “You?”

“Harder to Breathe.”

Patrick hummed. “Did you write it?”

“Yeah, it was Blake’s idea to perform a song I wrote,” Adam said.

“Which I still feel like is a wide song selection,” Patrick said.

Adam hummed noncommittally.

“Almatrax seems like a shitty employer,” Patrick said. Adam glanced up quickly but Patrick resolutely stared at the coach’s critiquing—so mostly gushed compliments—Rita’s performance.

“They’re decent,” Adam said. “Definitely not bad. Plaza is just an example of what too much power does to a person. He has his reasons for which artists he signs and rejects. I haven’t agreed with all of it, but it’s clear Plaza knows what he’s doing. Most of the artists he signs hit mainstream radio.”

“You don’t resent him for rejecting you?”

“Of course I do,” Adam said. “He was one of the factors that killed my dream—momentarily. Plus his general dickishness to non-clients isn’t exactly endearing. But...he’s not a bad person. Just kind of an asshole. But I’m an asshole too, which is probably part of the reason we clash whenever we do interact.”

One corner of Patrick’s mouth quirked. Adam was almost certain it was a trick of the light. “Still...sorry Plaza made Almatrax a douche.”

Adam chuckled. “Yeah, me too.”

Patrick’s eyes flickered at the arrival of The Voice’s PA, Paul. “I believe you’re being summoned.”

His steady state of panic swelled. “Yep.”

“Good luck.”

“You too,” Adam said. “And your fedoras aren’t completely idiotic.”

Patrick frowned, placing his fedora on his head indignantly. “A fedora is a sign of a gentlem—”

“Shh, I’m about to get filmed,” Adam interrupted, allowing Paul to lead him behind the rising door. Patrick huffed behind him.

“Now before we introduce our next act,” Carson said, staring into a camera next to Usher’s chair, “let’s take a look at how Blake prepared Adam Levine for his first live show.”

The giant screen behind the stage lit up with the practice montage. Adam shifted as previously filmed him bounded on screen. Adam would never get used to seeing himself on TV.

The practice montage started out normally enough. It showed Blake and Adam discussing his song choice—it was, in fact, aired that Adam wrote the song. He wasn't certain how much The Voice would advertise him being a songwriter—Adam practicing a few chords followed by some Blake comments, and Adam riffing a guitar solo.

But after that...he almost felt sheepish about the sheer amount of him and Blake joking around they included in the montage. Random portions of their various conversations and insults somehow turned the montage into an over-glorified video of his and Blake’s stupidity. God they even included Blake’s more outrageous—clearly joking—flirtations. Adam’s face heated up. He and Blake were unquestionably comfortable together, but how was their bullshit relevant to Adam’s practice? Sure, The Voice usually included tiny clips that showcased judge-contestant comradery, but Adam and Blake’s interactions took over roughly half of his montage.

Adam didn’t have too much time to dwell, because Paul already frantically cued the songwriter to go. So Adam pushed his half-formed questions aside and concentrated on not tripping to the stage.

He released a deep breath right before he approached the microphone, his eyes quickly scanning the room. The politely clapping crowd faded behind the four coaches, red chairs even more imposing now that they faced the stage. This wasn’t the Battles. Adam didn’t have another person to share the attention. All eyes focused on him. Cee Lo’s face was impassive and collected as ever, Usher nodded slightly as Adam approached the microphone, Christina studied him intently, and Blake...Blake’s face was completely warm and reassuring. Not that Adam expected anything else.

Matt’s drumstick cues made Adam straighten. His heart pounded in his throat. Fuck Adam felt like he would barf. Hazel eyes desperately connected with Blake’s as he opened his mouth to sing the first verse, his guitar already strumming under his fingerstips.

 _“How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable..._ ”

 

* * *

 

Adam flushed at the standing ovation, which all contestants received from the crowd thus far, but it was different seeing it on the screen in the lounge and _experiencing_ it. He grinned as Blake whistled enthusiastically.

Carson clapped as he walked onstage. He and Adam did a quick one-armed hug. “I know that you made it harder for many people to breath, including your coach.”

“Who can resist Adam in leather?” Blake asked.

Adam flushed at the hoots that arose from the crowd.

“Always a valid point,” Carson said. “Usher, what did you think of Adam’s performance?”

“It was spectacular, man,” Usher said. “Your enunciation has to be really good for songs with quick lyrics. And this song definitely falls under that category. Your control and clarity really registered with me. Great job.”

Adam grinned as the audience clapped.

“Christina?” Carson prompted.

“It’s not just that the lyrics were quick, it was the fact that there were so many words as well. You never looked like you were struggling lyrically or musically. But I really wish you would have performed without a guitar,” Christina said. She waved her fan at the few boos that elicited. “I _loved_ your stage presence last time and I felt like your guitar detracted from that.”

Adam’s grin faded halfway through her critique, but he still gave her an appreciative nod. He didn’t struggle lyrically or musically but she still didn’t like the guitar? Adam _knew_ he didn’t miss any notes...

“And let’s go to your coach,” Carson said. “Blake, what did you think?”

“You know I loved it,” Blake said, pausing to let the crowd cheer. “And the guitar definitely did not detract from your stage presence or make your performance dull. I always think it’s impressive when an artist can sing and not just play an instrument, but excell effortlessly at it. Which you definitely accomplished. Your guitar solo was one of my favorite parts of the song. And your pitch, as always, is spot on. Fantastic job, Adam.”

“Thanks, dude,” Adam said, grin widening at Blake’s slight eye roll at his ‘clearly city vernacular.’

“Now," Carson said, "to vote for Adam...”

 

_December 2011_

Blake wished he was startled to find the drenched Maroon 5 singer in his trailer. But this reeked with inevitability. Adam’s pacing halted as soon as the country star stepped through the door. Blake’s eyes glanced at the innocent red couch that played the backdrop of that fateful night...Blake forced his attention back to the Maroon 5 frontman. His determined expression made Blake wary.

“Forget an umbrella?” Blake asked.

“You are so vexing,” Adam said, striding forward a few steps so he stood a couple feet from Blake. Half of Adam’s hair was plastered to the side of his head and the singer was clearly shivering and miserable.

Blake long ago had stopped suppressing his mother hen impulse around Adam. It was too late to stop now. “Do you need a change of clothes?”

“No, stop,” Adam hissed, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t just _do_ that. It’s not _fair_.”

Blake frowned. “Do what? Adam, I’ve hurt you and I’m just trying to make things right...”

“Do that!” Adam exclaimed. “Stop acting like a decent human being. Stop acting like nothing happened! It’s pissing me off.”

“I just want to _fix_ things between us, Adam,” Blake said. “It’s the least—”

“Then fucking talk to me,” Adam interrupted. “Communication helps a fuck ton when both parties are confused. And FYI: You suck at communicating and you make me unnecessarily confused about _everything_.”

“I—”

“You essentially told me to fuck off because you’re scared of coming out,” Adam interrupted. “Then you belatedly figured ‘Wow. Maybe Adam should know the truth’ and you gave me a randomass confession. Now, you act like things are all fine and dandy because we ate dinner with your mom.”

“I’m sorry. I tried to talk her down but—”

“Was that all an act?” Adam hissed. “Were you only being friendly so your mom wouldn’t be suspicious?”

Blake blinked. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Don’t say that like I should know,” Adam interrupted. “I don’t know how to treat you right now.”

Blake bit his lip, looking down at the rigid singer. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just _talk_ to me, Blake,” Adam stressed. “Tell me what you want. Because I don’t fucking know how to deal with this.”

“You.”

Adam jerked back. “You can’t just say that.”

“It’s the truth,” Blake said. “I was an idiot. I should’ve never lied to you. It wasn’t fair to you and you definitely don’t deserve more strife in your life. And the fact I caused some..."

“More than some,” Adam muttered.

Blake flinched. “Adam, I’ve always felt this connection to you. Initially, I just thought it was your voice, but it’s just _you_. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Even at your worst, you’re still better than every other person I know.”

Cracks appeared in Adam’s blank expression. He blinked slowly. “But?”

Blake bit his lip but forced himself to maintain eye contact. He and Adam should’ve had this conversation weeks ago. “I don’t want to come out. I know you know that. And I also don’t want to force you to stay closeted to the public or suffer from a closeted boyfriend. Adam, do you have any idea how impossible our relationship would be to hide? I’m not strong enough to stand by your side during the media’s callousness. You deserve someone who can. You deserve someone worth coming out for. I can’t ask you stay hidden.”

Adam’s face twitched. “Well, you shouldn’t assume things, asshole.”

Blake’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I am a private person,” Adam snapped. “So, for some reason, I don’t want millions of people knowing my personal life.”

His brain refused to leap where Blake’s heart wanted it to. “What?”

Exasperated fondness crossed Adam’s face. The Maroon 5 singer huffed. “I meant what I said during The Voice. I’m coming out when I’m committed to the right person. Until then, no relationship questions will be answered about anybody. No offence, Blake, but we’ve only been friends for months. Not dating. Dating is a game changer.”

“But you’re always so...” Blake trailed off. “You’re so unapologetically true to yourself, much to our publicist’s chagrin. I didn’t want to...I assumed you would want to...”

“Just because I don’t tell a billion and one strangers my sexual orientation, does not mean I’m closeted,” Adam said. “I’m just...waiting for the right time.”

Blake’s mind reeled. “So you would still want a relationship? With-uh-with...me?”

“A secret, very gay one?” Adam asked, a flicker of mirth glinting in his eyes. “That would probably describe any relationship I pursued after The Voice. Who I’m intimate with won’t be broadcasted to the public any time soon. It’s none of their business.”

Hazel eyes studied Blake intently. The country singer knew that his mask was down. Adam could easily read his flood of confusion, desire, hope, _longing_.

“Did I just fuck everything up?”

Adam gave a small smile. “You really should have. But I like you too much. I always have. Count yourself lucky that you managed to embed yourself under my skin months ago.”

“Very lucky,” Blake agreed. “So...”

“So what?” Adam asked impassively.

Blake forced nonchalance. He did not deserve to be this lucky. Adam could not be this forgiving. Blake was prepared to wake up from this dream and mourn in bed. “Want to grab dinner sometime?”

Adam’s eyes twinkled. Blake didn't bother to repress his beam.  “As opposed to what we just did?”

It felt like a knot untangled itself from Blake’s heart. He could breathe again. “ _Without_ adult supervision.”

“You know how to swoon a guy,” Adam said. He frowned. “What did Dorothy say when I left?”

“She told me to get my head out of my ass,” Blake said hurriedly. Adam shouldn’t be anxious. Blake vowed to never to allow Adam to be anything less than happy in the future. “She knew you were blameless. You’re already her favorite. How is that even fair?”

Adam chuckled softly. “I told you your mom and I are bros.”

“Sorry I didn’t pay attention earlier,” Blake said. He turned Adam’s face to his. A thrill shot through him that Adam let him. “And so sorry that we didn’t talk sooner.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Adam said softly. “Blake, I...I don’t want to overcommit to this relationship if you’re just going to leave.”

A weight dropped in Blake’s stomach. He stared at Adam with wide eyes, reaching forward to wrap his arms—God, it’s been too long since they just _touched_ —around the smaller man. “Never. Adam, I don’t want to ever hurt you again. If you feel like I’m neglecting you in _any_   way, just hit me. I cannot be responsible for your pain again. I don’t want to cause you anything even vaguely relating to pain. I’m sorry I was a big enough idiot to do it the first time.”

Adam relaxed into Blake’s embrace. “Stop apologizing.”

“But I just want you to know—”

“I can tell how sincere you are just by looking at you,” Adam said, pressing his face against Blake. “Just...let’s take it slow.”

“We’ll make it work,” Blake breathed. “We’ll _talk._ ”

He felt Adam grin. “Good.”

Adam felt so right in his arms. Why did Blake ever try to deny these feelings? Especially when his response only hurt Adam.

“Adam,” Blake said slowly. He felt Adam stiffen. The Maroon 5 singer leaned back to study Blake’s face.  “Will you be my very gay boyfriend?”

Adam grinned up at the country singer. “Blake, all you ever had to do was ask.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start off by saying how awesome all of you are. This is my first fic that ever reached over a 100 reviews! Yes, I know that my replies to your lovely reviews also count (and I do try to respond to everybody), but still! You have no idea how ecstatic the 100+ reviews make me! I reward all of you with lovely Shevine moments!
> 
> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> April 2012 - Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“Josè, I’m already a fan of yours,” Blake said. Josè shifted on stage, grinning nervously at the red chairs. Only Gwen and Blake’s runways lit up and both mentors leaned forward eagerly.

“He uses that line on everybody,” Adam dismissed. “Don’t fall for it.”

Blake turned to Adam. “You fell for it.”

“I fell for your looks and money,” Adam corrected. “I accepted your bad lines as a necessary evil. Josè benefits from neither your looks nor money. So really Gwen is the logical choice.”

“Hey,” Blake protested.

“Thanks, Adam,” Gwen said, blonde hair swaying as she turned her head. “Josè, I meant what I said earlier. You’re fun and unique and I _love_ your energy. You would be a fantastic addition to my team.”

“Plus she has more experience in your genre than Blake,” Adam added.

“You’re not even one of his coaching options,” Blake called. “Pipe down.”

“Now, now, be nice to the new coach,” Gwen scolded.

“See Josè,” Adam said. “You don’t want someone that cranky to be your coach. Look at Gwen. Look at that gorgeous smile.”

Gwen’s smile cranked up a few notches. Josè laughed nervously.

“Whose side are you on?” Blake asked.

“Gwen’s.”

Blake huffed.

“So who do you pick for your coach?” Pharrell asked.

Josè fidgeted with the microphone. “This is incredibly nerve-wracking...I’m just a huge fan of all of you.”

“Pick Gwen,” Adam stage-whispered.

Josè cracked a smiled. “And I pick...Gwen.”

Gwen threw her arms in the air in celebration, blowing Adam a kiss as she got up to hug Josè. Blake shook his head at Adam. He smiled angelically.

“We should work together more often,” Gwen said as she walked back towards her chair. “Josè is just what my team needed.”

“We’re the best,” Adam agreed. He jumped out of his chair to saunter towards Blake. “Aww, why the long face? Eat a sour gummy worm on accident again?”

“I can’t believe that you sided against me,” Blake pouted.

“You were on a winning streak,” Adam said, hopping onto Blake’s lap. The country singer immediately shifted and wrapped his arms around Adam.

“Pharrell got the last contestant I turned around for,” Blake protested.

“Pharrell doesn’t count. Pharrell is Pharrell,” Adam said. “You had to be stopped. I can’t have you get a big head. It would be disproportionate with the rest of your body. Even though you could probably get a pretty sweet bobble head deal from it.”

“I _could’ve_ ,” Blake agreed. “But someone ruined that dream. And my big head.”

Adam hummed. “Clearly I didn’t think this through.”

“Clearly not,” Blake said. He took a sip from his Starbucks cup. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“It is my one good quality,” Adam said, snagging Blake’s cup and taking a long drink from it.

“Give yourself a break,” Blake protested. “You’re an okay singer.”

“You’re acceptable as well,” Adam said before looking dramatically into the distance. “Maybe we’ll make it big one day.”

“I could’ve been big already if I won Josè,” Blake muttered.

Adam shushed Blake. “You mustn’t live in the past. It’ll stop you from prospering in the future and shit.”

“I can’t disagree with Yoda,” Blake said.

Adam sighed. Blake’s eyes danced. “You _know_ that wasn’t a Star Wars reference. Stop being deliberately vexing.”

“Says the man, who I thought loved me, that sided against me,” Blake said.

“Coaches get in your seats,” Paul said.

Adam nudged Blake. “Paul is ordering us around.”

“Adam, shush. He’s trying to be authoritative,” Blake said.

“Right you are,” Adam said. “We shouldn’t talk about how adorable he is giving out orders and whatnot. I feel like he’s grown so much.”

“Guys, seriously...” Paul pleaded.

“You made his authoritativeness go away,” Blake gasped.

“RIP Paul’s authority...”

“Just get in your seats,” Paul said. “Please?”

“I _am_ in a seat,” Adam said.

“I can attest to that,” Blake said.

“Adam, your seat, now,” Heather ordered.

“Anything for you, Heather,” Adam called. He pecked Blake’s cheek. “I’ll try not to miss you too much.”

“I’ll hold your picture close to my heart,” Blake said.

“Were they always this sappy?” Gwen asked. Pharrell nodded.

“Yep,” Heather answered. “Now come on. We have a _lot_ more auditions to get through.”

 

_December 2011_

A cold silence intruded the Opener’s tour bus—thankfully minus Bucky and Rick. His bandmates glared with varying degrees of hostility and distrust at the tall country singer. Blake sat in a chair at the other end of the room, his meekily hung head contradicted by the firm resolve in his eyes.

Adam crossed the bus to sit next to Blake, snagging his hand. Blake ran his thumb over Adam’s knuckles. “For Christ’s sake, this is not your guys’ decision.”

“Sorry we’re not jumping with joy that the very guy who inspired at least thirty different angsty songs and _weeks_ of sorrow is now your significant other,” James drawled. He shifted his gaze to Blake. “You _are_ Adam’s boyfriend, aren’t you? You’re not pulling a fucking—”

“Yes, we’re dating,” Adam snapped. “That’s what caused this entire conversation.”

“Is Blake suddenly mute?” James asked.

“That would make for a shitty Blake Shelton tour,” Mickey said.

“Me and Adam are dating,” Blake confirmed. “I don’t deserve him—”

“Damn straight,” James muttered. Adam narrowed his eyes at the lead guitarist.

“But we’re dating to see how well we work as a couple,” Blake finished.

“Fucking fantastic so far,” Matt muttered.

“We aren’t going to let you hurt Adam,” James said. Blake’s eyes dropped.

“For fuck’s sake, the _point_ of dating is to see how _compatible_ you are,” Adam snapped. “The fact that _that’s_ why Blake and I are dating is not a reason to treat our relationship like its toxic.”

“We’re treating your relationship like its toxic because Blake has already shown us how easily he lies and breaks you,” Jesse said. “You can’t expect—”

“I messed up,” Blake interrupted.

“Understatement of the decade,” James retorted.

“I am completely in the wrong for how I treated Adam,” Blake said. Adam tensed next to Blake but didn’t remove his hand from his grasp. “I _know_. I know I don’t deserve this chance. I know I completely misinterpreted the situation. But at the time, I thought that...Well, frankly, I had y’all’s opinion that Adam deserved better. So I made that decision for him. But that didn’t turn out well for anyone...”

Adam shifted closer to Blake’s side. “We both want this, guys,” Adam said quietly. “So we’re seeing what happens.”

He glanced up and smiled at Blake’s tender expression. He pressed his lips against the frontman's forehead. “I really don’t deserve you.”

A heavy sigh drew their attention back to his bandmates.

“I guess we don’t have any say in what happens,” Jesse said.

“Not really, no,” Adam said.

James pursed his lips. “I don’t like this.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Adam said dryly.

“But we’ll stay out of your way,” Matt said. “You are adults and shit.”

Adam nodded stiffly.

“But if you _hurt_ Adam, I’ll—” James began.

“James, fucking stop,” Adam interrupted.

Jesse’s eyes flickered between James and Blake before settling on Adam. His expression softened. “Come on, guys. Let’s leave.”

“I would like to eventually get along with y’all,” Blake said, halting the rest of Maroon 5.

James leveled Blake with an unimpressed stare. “We’ll see.”

Blake finally relaxed into the back of the chair, closing his eyes as Maroon 5 shut the door behind them. “Will they ever like me?”

Adam nestled his head into Blake’s shoulder. “In time.”

“That did go marginally better than I thought it would,” Blake mused.

“It’s just too soon,” Adam said. “And they don’t have the added bonus of currently dating you.”

“To distract from all the bullshit I put you through?”

“You’re surprisingly effective at it,” Adam teased. “I think it’s your face.”

Blake shifted his arms around Adam, hesitantly shifting the Maroon 5 singer into his lap. “I knew you were using me for my looks.”

Adam curled into the country singer. “Also, you’re surprisingly comfortable.”

“That is a skill that people often questioned on my resume.”

Adam snorted.

Blake played with Adam’s hair, still amazed with the pure _rightness_ of finally treating Adam like this. Why did he ever think rejecting Adam was a good idea? Their interactions were different than before, but exponentially better and more natural. Blake no longer felt obligated to restrain himself at a certain point. He and Adam were finally on the same page. “If you ever regret this...”

Adam tensed. “I won’t. Stop dwelling. We’re moving forward.”

“But...” Blake started.

“We’re starting fresh. Can we pretend that the last month hasn’t happened?” Adam pleaded.

Blake studied the Maroon 5 singer intently. Adam drew nonsensical patterns on Blake’s flannel shirt. “We’ll remember what’s important.”

“But we’re moving forward,” Adam said insistently.

“We’re definitely moving forward.”

 

_June 2011_

“I’m only _slightly_ flipping shit,” Adam told Aly. The guitarist hummed, her pixie hair recently dyed bright red. Tonight was the first live eliminations. Which was fucking worse and better than the performance the night before. Adam couldn’t worry about fucking up lyrics, pitch, or general performance, but now his fate was unnervingly sealed and there was nothing he could do except hope. As such, Adam had been pacing restlessly until Aly steered him towards the singer’s lounge fifteen minutes ago.

“At least you’re no longer backstage so the crew won’t plot your murder,” Aly said.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Adam protested weakly.

“You managed to get in everybody’s way,” Aly said, “which is impressive in itself.”

“I go big or go home in everything I do,” Adam said.

Aly studied the singer from where they leaned against a wall next to the singer’s lounge. “You’ll be fine, Adam.”

Aly’s matter-of-fact tone did ease some of his nerves.

“Plus there’s literally nothing you can do now,” Matt said, coming to a halt by the duo, “unless you’re in the Bottom 3 and have to sing a last chance performance.”

Adam laughed nervously.

Aly glared at the drummer. “And you say I lack tact. You intrude and in  _two_ seconds...”

Matt shrugged, casting Adam an apologetic look. “Do you not have a song prepared, dude?”

“You know I do,” Adam said. “Several. But fuck, I think I repressed the concept of last chance performances. I knew that last chance performances were a 50/50 shot for me, but I didn’t actually _think_ about them, you know? _Christ_ , can you imagine singing your heart out with a 2/3 chance of you packing your bags and never returning? I need to warm up my voice.”

“Ok, sounds like it’s time for you to go to the singer’s lounge and freak out with the other contestants,” Matt said.

“You incited his panic,” Aly said.

"No, I'm fine," Adam said, his voice an embarrassing octave higher than usual. Aly gave him a very unimpressed look.

“Adam, you were awesome,” Matt said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You being eliminated now would be a crime. And I’m not just saying that because I bet Lucas you’d make it.”

“Lucas thinks I’ll fail?” Adam asked. He ignored the slight pang. He barely knew the musician manager.

“He’s just trying to prove that he doesn’t like you,” Matt said. “He’s prickly like that. Speaking of Lucas, I came to fetch you down to the pit.”

“The joyous pit,” Aly said flatly. “Good luck, Adam. Don’t throw up.”

“I’ll try,” Adam said. The musicians nodded, leaving Adam with a parting wave. The songwriter took a deep breath before entering the singer’s lounge. The tension was palpable. Team Usher and Team Blake were on a nearby couch and the far corner by the bar respectively. Roughly a dozen of Team Christina and Team Cee Lo contestants lingered in the lounge. The other Team Christina and Cee Lo contestants either wandered around the studio or were at home watching The Voice from the tedious—in Adam's opinion, but he didn't dictate other people’s lives—comfort of their couch.

The only visibly anxious people in the lounge were Team Usher, who had the honor of kicking off the show with Pink, and Raelynn, who had been in a constant state of nerves for a solid week and showed no sign of stopping. Usher was in the middle of giving his team a pep talk while Blake was surrounded by the rest of the team in the corner of the room. Raelynn’s face steadily grew more panicky the longer Blake talked.

Adam wandered over to his team, rolling his eyes as soon as he heard Blake.

“...Really this is nothing compared to the later shows,” Blake said. “That’s when things get really stressful.”

“Why do you think that’s reassuring?” Adam asked, nearing Raelynn so he could put an arm around her.

Blake frowned. “It’s slightly reassuring.”

“Raelynn looks ready to hurl,” Patrick pointed out, shifting the angle of his fedora. His eyes flickered momentarily away from the wall mirror to glare at Adam.

“I wasn’t nervous until I came in here,” Chelsea added.

“See?”  Adam said.

“Hmph,” Blake grunted. “I'm not  _that_ bad.”

“Maybe we should transfer to Team Usher,” Adam mused. “His team actually smiles after he finishes speaking.”

“Of course, you would say that,” Blake scoffed.

Adam frowned at his coach. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Don’t try and deny it, Adam,” Blake said hauntingly. Adam would be worried if it weren’t for the obvious twinkling in his blue eyes. “I know the truth.”

“I swear it’s like you're trying to make sense,” Adam said.

“I saw your pre-audition interview,” Blake continued. “I heard you say Usher was your dream coach.”

Adam vaguely remembered that. His audition seemed so long ago now. Back when nothing could alter his resolve that all the chairs would remain unimpressed and unturned during his song. How wrong past-him had been. Adam grinned cheekily. “Usher has a suaveness surrounding him that certain country bumpkins, who will remain nameless, lack.”

“Clearly not since you picked me,” Blake reminded.

“You needed the most help,” Adam said. “I came into this competition hoping to refine someone. Like in Pretty Woman.”

“Gonna buy me some pretty clothes, rock star?” Blake asked.

“I’m starting small and strictly sticking to ‘not flannel,’ ” Adam said. “I’m easing you into Usher-level clothing.”

“You can just join my team, Adam,” Usher called teasingly from the couch. “Blake might actually win this season if he has one less artist to focus on.”

Tony Lucca, Raelynn, and Adam oohed dramatically. Adam smirked at Tony briefly before turning back to Blake. “That would be a burn, good sir.”

“ _Now_ you’re respectful,” Blake said. “Right when you’re planning to jump ship.”

“Usher actually gives _motivational_ motivational speeches,” Adam said. “It’s tough to beat that.”

“He is very encouraging,” Tony said, “and he has nice shoes.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully.

“I have nice shoes,” Blake said.

“You wear cowboy boots,” Adam dismissed.

“Adam, we’re out-numbered,” Jermaine reminded.

“Indeed,” Adam said, glancing down at Raelynn, Brent, and Chelsea’s boots. “Cowboy boots look fine on everybody but Blake.”

“Hey,” Blake protested.

“I don’t make the rules, man,” Adam said. “I’m just the messenger.”

“If I knew how much of a shit you were, I would’ve never turned around,” Blake said.

Adam scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Blake smirked.

“Hey Blake, Heather is summoning us,” Usher said, approaching the country singer from behind to clap him on the shoulder.

“One second,” Blake said.

“Motivational speech: take two,” Adam stage-whispered. Raelynn giggled sharply.

Blake rolled his eyes before turning to each group member individually. “Y’all all did great last night. You made me honored to be called your coach. Whatever happens out there, just know I’m proud of every single one of you. Y’all just have to remember that The Voice is only a stepping stone. You can succeed even if you don’t win here.”

Adam felt Raelynn’s tense shoulders relax. Only slightly but it was progress. He gave Blake a thumbs up. “Kudos, dipshit.”

Patrick gave a startled snort.

“And by ‘proud of everyone,’ I meant proud of everyone but Adam,” Blake amended.

“Aww don’t be like that,” Adam said. “My self-esteem is oh so fragile.”

“Your self-esteem could take a hit from a horny, charging herd of stallions,” Blake said.

“But a herd of mildly hungry, charging stallions might annihilate it,” Adam said. 

“Come on, Blake, let’s not make Heather yell at you again,” Usher urged when Blake opened his mouth to retort.

“Good luck,” Blake said. “I’ll see y’all on the other side.”

The contestants watched as their coaches left the lounge with a short wave from Blake and a casual head nod from Usher. Adam attempted to squash the fluttering in his stomach that appeared as Blake disappeared through the door. He took a deep breath.

“Some day Blake will grow up and not scare anyone while he’s trying to be uplifting,” Adam said. General murmurs of agreement were made but no one made any effort to establish conversation. Adam eyed at his teammates. “So does everybody have a song picked out for the last chance performance?”

Everyone groaned. Raelynn shrank into herself. Patrick just stared at Adam in disbelief.

“Ah, too soon.”

 

_December 2011_

Blake was forever grateful for Adam’s lack of tact. Obviously the tension between Adam and him had persisted for about a month—God, how unnecessarily long—so Blake wasn’t quite sure how to demonstrate their renewed relationship. Blake pursed his lips. The romantic nature of their relationship was kept under wraps, but Blake and Adam were definitely no longer skirting around each other in public. But he was hesitatant on how to approach it. Luckily, Adam had no such qualms.

“Sup, dickface,” Adam greeted, plopping down next to Blake. Blake smiled as his boyfriend—a warm thrill ran through him—propped his feet up on the side of his chair. Adam smirked as he snatched Blake’s bag of chips.

“I feel used.”

Adam loudly munched on his acquired potato chips, successfully ignoring the nearby crew members' murmurs and double takes. “And I feel terrible about that.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re sincere,” Blake said.

Adam tossed another chip in his mouth. “Rude.”

“I was really hoping you’d miss that,” Blake said.

“I am master of few things,” Adam began hauntingly, “and one of those is catching potato chips in my mouth.”

“Potato chips specifically?”

“They are the superior chip,” Adam nodded.  

“You should do a Lays sponsorship,” Blake said, shifting Adam’s feet into his lap. He rested his hand on Adam’s ankles. “Or maybe get a celebrity perfume that smells like potato chips.”

“Would have to be a celebrity for that,” Adam reminded.

“Adam, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you kinda are,” Blake said. “You’ll just be a more established celebrity after your first CD comes out.”

"Reality star celebrity doesn't count," Adam said.

"Adam..."

Adam munched noisily. “Also celebrity perfumes are tacky and should be punishable by death.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“They’re obnoxious,” Adam said. “Like your face.”

Blake took a large bite of his sandwich. “Follow the trend, Adam.”

“I’ll get a scent as soon as you get one, Big Country,” Adam said.

Blake scoffed. “Right.”

“A relationship is all about compromise,” Adam said sagely. “A fortune cookie said so.”

“We can’t fight fortune cookie logic,” Blake said. “So what are you doing later?”

Adam’s wandering gaze zeroed back to Blake. “Nothing important.”

“I want to take you someplace.”

“There’s actually stuff to do here?”

“It’s no LA, but we try to do more than farm and shoot shit in Oklahoma,” Blake said.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Meet you at 5?”

“I suppose I’ll fit you into my busy schedule.”

Blake swatted Adam’s leg.  “You’re a saint.”

 

_April 2012_

“Mr. Levine, we’d like to think you and your bandmates again for volunteering to play at the Trevor Project Live Fundraiser,” Bernard, one of the managers of the Trevor Project said, leading Maroon 5 backstage. “We’re always ecstatic when new celebrities support our cause.”

“It’s a worthy cause,” Adam said. He had always known about the Trevor Project, but he never personally used it because of his lovingly accepting family. But Adam knew many people, especially teenagers, did not have that same support system. Any little thing Adam could be a part of that comforts people and lets them know they aren’t alone he would jump on board immediately. People didn’t deserve to suffer because their family or friends didn’t support who they were. “And we’re just barely famous. We weren’t sure if you wanted us to even play...”

“Oh nonsense,” Bernard interrupted, opening the door to an empty room with a couple sofas and food dishes scattered on various tables. “Every supporter is honored. Celebrities, as I’m sure you know, Mr. Levine, since you have been a household name since your Voice escapade, simply add more weight behind issues. And we would love for your fans to also be made more aware of what Trevor Project offers.”

“We would love that too,” Adam said.

Bernard grinned, his hand reflexively tightening his tie. “Glad we’re on the same page. If you will just wait in this green room, Wilson will fetch you when it’s Maroon 5’s time for makeup.”

“Sounds good,” Adam said.

Bernard shook all of Maroon 5’s hands while lavishing them with thanks before exiting the room and closing the door softly behind him. Adam watched as Bernard darted down the hallway, quickly vanishing from view as the wide window in their room met the soft green wall.

“I’m glad we could perform here,” Jesse said.

“Same,” Adam said, dropping to the nearest seat. His bandmates grabbed food and followed suit. “Bernard was too by the looks of it.”

“As he should,” Mickey said, “we are pretty great.”

“Yeah, us and our zero hits,” James said.

Adam rolled his eyes, reaching into James’ bowl just to throw pretzels at their guitarist. “Our CD came out a couple weeks ago. Chill.”

“Besides, Misery is doing pretty well,” Matt said, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers.

James ran a hand down his long hair. “True. Sorry, I just...”

“Expected more immediate results?” Adam finished. “Blake says that all new songs and albums take time to circulate. Only megastars like Katy Perry or Rhianna have instant success with their new songs.  Just remember how long it took until the Gym Class Heroes album gained traction. And four of their songs are hits now.”

“Including Stereo Hearts,” Mickey said.

“Fuck yeah,” Adam grinned, high-fiving Mickey.

James frowned. “Does Blake know you’re here?”

“Yes, Jamison, I do share things with the guy I fucked last night,” Adam drawled.

James grimaced. “Was that detail really necessary?”

“Yep,” Adam said. “You know me. I’m such a fan of over-sharing.”

“You only over-share when we want you to shut up,” James muttered. “Otherwise you clamp up and refuse to speak.”

“Fine, let me rephrase. Yes, Blake knows we’re playing at Trevor Live,” Adam said. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

James hesitated. “Just...gay rumors might start circulating since we're obvioulsy LGBT supporters and since you’re both keeping everything on the quiet side—”

“I don’t answer any relationship questions,” Adam interrupted. “You know this. I’m not revealing who I’m dating until I’m committed and it's relevant. I don’t know why you’re acting like this will fuck up everything. This is a _charity_ event, not a coming out party.”

James held up his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I know, but I wasn’t sure if Blake was comfortable—”

“Blake isn’t a paranoid asshole,” Adam snapped. “Stop treating him like he wants to make me miserable. He’s one of the _best_ relationships I’ve ever had and you and your constant suspicious disapproval is ruining it.”

“If its so great then why are you both hiding—” James began heatedly.

Jesse jabbed James with his elbow. “Let’s stop before we say something we regret, yeah?”

James pursed his lips before nodding. Adam scowled.

“Great, now let’s kiss and make up,” Jesse said. “We do have a set to play just in case you ‘professionals’ forgot.”

James breathed in deeply and looked up ruefully at a glaring Adam. “I’m trying to warm up to Blake, I _swear_.”

“Just stop constantly assuming he’s the bad guy,” Adam said. “It’s annoying as fuck.”

“I will,” James promised. Adam relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you.”

“You can worry, just don’t be a dick.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” James said. Adam rolled his eyes.

“Being a dick is in his nature,” Matt inputted.

James latched onto the levity immediately. “That’s not what your mom said last night.”

Matt snorted. “Really? Did we just revert to middle school?”

“Your mom was sleeping around since you were in _middle school_?” Mickey asked. He grinned at Matt’s narrowed eyes.

“You okay?” Jesse asked Adam quietly as James, Matt, and Mickey bickered around them.

Adam nodded, hazel eyes refocusing. His gaze flickered from the window to Jesse. “Come on, looks like Bernard is coming to prep us.”

_December 2011_

“Wow, did you see that tree, Blake!“ Adam exclaimed, peering out the pickup truck’s window.

Blake rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t funny the first twenty times you did it.”

“I’m just trying to take in—ooh a barn _and_ a tree!—all the sights,” Adam said. “See the other side.”

“I know it’s not your fancy city with smog, gangs, heavy traffic—”

“True, I don’t think anyone would want to venture out here,” Adam agreed.

Blake pursed his lips, ignoring his flicker of anxiety. He wanted—vainly—to impress Adam, but what did Blake really have to offer? Adam was used to big cities and city entertainment. Blake was a born and bred country boy. Anything he did would probably be boring for the rock star. Adam reached over and snagged his hand over the consol.

“It smells really nice out here,” Adam said. “It’s peaceful.”

“The country is definitely someplace you can be alone,” Blake said.

“Yet country folk are usually closer than city people,” Adam said.

“Nah, just more intrusive,” Blake said. “We have less people to gossip about so we overcompensate.”

Adam snorted. “Do you like living in a small town?”

Blake smiled, turning his truck down a winding road. “Love it.”

“It wasn’t weird when you first moved there?" Adam asked. "Assuming you moved there after you were famous."

“People were awed at first,” Blake said. “But the effect wore off after a solid month of seeing me buy bread and beer at the dollar store. I’m just a regular neighbor now. It’s much less hectic than the city. A city that listens to country music, anyway.”

“I never listened to country music and I knew who you were,” Adam said.

“I knew you were always secretly attracted to me,” Blake said triumphantly. “You internet stalked me.”

Adam rolled his eyes in the passenger seat. “I knew who you were because of The Voice, you dolt.”

“Which is when you became secretly attracted to me?”

Adam flushed slightly.

Blake’s grin widened. “Really?”

“I thought you were straight,” Adam said. “I tried to repress my feelings.”

“When did you start to—?”

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “My attraction to you kind of snuck up on me. It was super irritating.”

“Sorry.”

Adam snorted. “You sound it.”

“You know how hard it is for me to keep my sexiness in check,” Blake said.

“It _is_ super sexy that you’re driving,” Adam said. “I didn’t even know you had a license.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “Did you and Carson bond over making fun of me?”

“Pretty much,” Adam said. “So we never ran out of conversation.”

“And I know _how_ to drive—”

“You just choose not to?” Adam completed.

“Not in LA,” Blake said. “Your traffic is intimidating. I have no idea where anything is.”

“I learned to drive in LA,” Adam said. “Just let that simmer.”

“That does explain why you’re such an aggressive driver,” Blake said.

Adam huffed. “I just like getting to my destination in a timely fashion.”

“So aggressively,” Blake said.

“Maybe you’re just a really pathetic driver,” Adam said. “Be assertive.”

Blake drifted the truck to the middle of the road, cocking an eyebrow at Adam.

Adam slowly clapped. “Yes, claim the road that literally no one else is on. Your bold driving prowess makes it hard for me to concentrate.”

“I have that effect on people,” Blake agreed, Adam's hand falling to intertwine with his again.

“Have people waiting in line to throw themselves at you?” Adam asked.

“Oh yeah, everyone wants a piece of this chunky ass,” Blake said.

“You’re not chunky,” Adam said.

Blake eyed Adam—his completely toned, perfect physique boyfriend. Compared to Blake’s only occasional exercise paired with over-drinking, over-eating habits... “I’m a little chunky.”

“You’re perfect,” Adam said firmly. Blake forced his attention to the road and away from Adam’s complete sincerity. The frontman continued in a flippant tone. “And even if you are chunky, it only benefits me further by making you a better cuddle partner.”

Blake chuckled. “Not even surprised you’re a cuddler.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “No shit. What gave it away? Me lying on you constantly?”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Blake said.

“Similar how I didn’t want to assume that you’re not a walking a country stereotype?” Adam asked.

Blake frowned.

“The first car I see you drive is a pickup truck,” Adam said. “It’s like you didn’t even try.”

“Nothing’s wrong with a sturdy pickup truck,” Blake protested. “Us country folk actually _use_ our cars for more than just transportation and the occasional quickie in a parking lot.”

“Ooh verbal smackdown,” Adam said. “Color me sufficiently cowed by your wit.”

Blake sighed, not quite able to suppress a smile at Adam’s antics. “So what do you drive?”

“Ford Mustang,” Adam said. “A classic.”

“I suppose I approve.”

“That was my initial concern when I bought it a couple years ago,” Adam said.

“Understandable,” Blake said. “Even though it still can’t beat the functionality of a pickup truck.”

Adam leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

“Pickup trucks aren’t limited to just the road,” Blake said. “Plus they hold everything you might possibly need.”

“Like a purse.”

Blake jerked his head to stare at a smirking Adam. “What? No.”

“You essentially drive a purse,” Adam said.

Blake scowled. “I do not.”

“Aww,” Adam cooed. “Did I insult your manly man grr truck?”

“Cracking yourself up?”

“We can throw mud on it if it makes you feel better,” Adam said.

“We would not throw mud on it,” Blake said. “We’d go mudding like normal people.”

“ ‘Normal people,’ ” Adam mocked. “Right.”

“Once you pop your mudding cherry, you’ll understand,” Blake said.

“I feel like you’re going to make me do all the insanely southern things,” Adam said.

“Like you won’t do the same when we get into a city,” Blake said.

“I will never take you to a place that looks like you can get away with murder. Speaking of my clever description that matches our surroundings, where are we going?” Adam asked. He eyed Blake suspiciously. “You’re not taking me to the middle of the woods to camp for the night, are you?”

Blake cocked an eyebrow. “Camping too rough for your delicate city sensibilities?”

“I’m not prepared for camping,” Adam said.

“I could have supplies in the truck bed,” Blake said.

Adam considered this. “I’m not prepared mentally.”

“The sacrifices I make for you,” Blake sighed, rubbing his thumb across Adam’s knuckles.

“But seriously, where are we going?” Adam asked.

“Now that would be telling."

“Yes it would,” Adam said. “That’s how conversations work. I see that southern manners did not cover this.”

“We’re going there,” Blake said, nodding ahead.

“Yay a shack that looks abandoned,” Adam drawled. “You’re not taking me to a cult meeting, are you?”

Blake shook his head. “That’s more of a fourth date thing.”

Adam hummed. “Cult policy or personal preference?”

“Personal preference,” Blake said. “Attempting to induct someone into a cult on the first through third date has not turned out well.”

“Four is the magic number?” Adam asked as Blake pulled up a gravel driveway.

“I guess we’ll find out, rock star,” Blake said, parking the red pickup truck.

“Paintball?” Adam asked gleefully, hazel eyes brightening over the faded sign plastered on the front of the refurbished barn. “This shack looks less sketchy up close.”

“I’m easing you into hunting,” Blake said.

Adam grinned at Blake. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you, Shelton.”

 

_June 2011_

“Nervous already?” Christina teased.

“Just wait until next week,” Blake said. Yes, he sat stiffly in his chair, growing tenser as time went on. Eliminations were always nerve-wracking, no matter what stage. The stakes just got higher later in the competition. Higher and more panic-inducing. Dang it, none of his artists deserved to be sent home, especially after they just survived Battles.

“It’s never pleasant sending someone home,” Usher said, leg already pulled up in his chair. “And it just keeps getting closer and closer to that time... I can never get their hurt faces out of my head.”

“You have a very strong team,” Blake said.

“You do too,” Usher said, smile turning self-deprecating. “And now we get to send a couple people home.”

“We’re live in 5...4...3...2...” Paul said from behind the chairs. The new PA must’ve made a good impression with Heather. Heather rarely trusted newbies during Lives, especially since she stayed in the camera room during Lives, dictating which camera footage to use.

“Welcome back to The Voice!” Carson said to the camera with his usual gusto and dramatic pauses. “We’re about to bring out Team Blake to find out how America voted and who is up for elimination. Everyone put your hands together from Jermaine, Brent, Patrick, Raelynn, Adam, and Chelsea!”

His team’s collective terrified expression—either hidden behind a sneer like Patrick or openly displayed like Raelynn—made Blake clap even harder. He attempted to rearrange his face into a reassuring smile. Adam’s double-take and frown made a snort escape from Blake. His smile felt more natural as Carson continued talking.

“You all performed fantastically,” Carson said. “And, before we reveal how America voted, let’s have a quick word from your coach. Blake?”

“I never want to let anyone go,” Blake said. “Y’all already set the bar so high at the beginning of the season. Any of you leaving is an injustice. But just remember, your journey doesn’t stop after The Voice.”

The audience’s applause surrounded him. But Blake couldn’t do anything but focus on Carson and his team. Blake supported every team member an insane amount. Yet, despite his intentions to remain unbiased, he couldn’t help but pray that Adam and Jermaine were safe.

“Alright, now, in no particular order, I’ll read the three safe contestants,” Carson said. “The Bottom 3 contestants will then sing their last chance performance and their coach, Blake, will save one singer. The first contestant saved by America’s vote is...Jermaine.”

Jermaine’s careful blank mask cracked into a grin. Raelynn squeezed him in a hug and Jermaine and Adam fist-bumped. Blake clapped as Jermaine left the stage.

“The next safe contestant is...Raelynn,” Carson said.

A squeal escaped from Raelynn. She jumped and hugged a startled Adam. The tattooed singer wrapped his arms around her and murmured something in her ear. Raelynn lingered by Adam before hastily moving down the line, hugging Brent, Chelsea, and a clearly uncomfortable Patrick. Raelynn beamed at Blake as she passed him.

Blake’s heart thrummed quicker in his chest. Anxiety cracked through Patrick’s sneer, Chelsea clung to Brent’s hand tightly, Brent closed his eyes, and Adam stood a bit away from Patrick, taking deep breaths and staring intently at Blake. Adam smiled sheepishly when their eyes connected, shifting his focus to Carson.

“And the last contestant saved by America’s votes...” Carson said. Blake scowled internally at Carson’s persistently dramatic announcements, “...is Adam Levine!”

Pure relief flooded in Adam’s face. Blake cheered as the dark haired man hugged Chelsea and shook Brent and Patrick’s hands. Adam grinned, pumping his fist into the air and pointing at Blake as he walked offstage. Blake smiled at Adam before turning back to the stage. The remaining contestants stared gloomily at Carson and Blake. Only Chelsea forced a smile when Adam’s name was called. Blake’s grin faded as he stared at the remainder of his team. He had to send two of these people home...

“Patrick, Brent, Chelsea...You all are, unfortunately, in the Bottom 3. Good luck with your last chance performance,” Carson said, pausing as the studio clapped as the Bottom 3 left the stage. “Now let’s bring out Team Usher!”

 

* * *

 

Patrick, Brent, and Chelsea had disappeared as soon as they arrived backstage. But Adam’s own euphoric relief didn’t allow him to do more than glance at their departing backs. America saved him. _America_ saved _him_. Enough people liked Adam to save him from the terrifying last chance performance. It was fucking surreal.

“I _knew_ you’d make it!” Raelynn said, bouncing to her feet and squeezing Adam to death again.

“Feels nice to know you’re safe for a couple weeks,” Jermaine said, cracking his neck as the trio walked towards the singer’s lounge.

“I’m so glad you both made it. I knew you would,” Adam said. “I wasn’t sure about myself but I think that goes for all of us.”

Raelynn shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, essentially sums up my feelings. I knew you two were safe. You both have _gorgeous_ voices.”

“I suppose your's is alright, too,” Adam said.

Raelynn snorted. “Aww, thanks.”

Adam threw an arm over her shoulders. “You know your voice is awesome. Don’t front.”

“ _Such_ a city boy,” Raelynn teased.

“He rarely left LA,” Jermaine said. “It limited his vocabulary.”

“So all LA musicians talk like they’re from the 90s?” Raelynn asked.

“The 90s were totally radical,” Adam said, frowning as Patrick jogged past them, his nauseated face avoiding direct eye contact. Adam paused. He and Patrick’s longest conversation was an argument. Sure they shared a semi-nice bonding moment before Adam's performance, but he doubted Patrick would appreciate his company. And yet... He glanced back to see the bathroom door swing shut. Sneering at Adam should at least get Patrick’s mind off things. “Hey, I’ll meet up with you guys in a bit.”

Raelynn frowned but followed Jermaine. They both waved as Adam sauntered towards the bathroom.

Adam debated whether or not to knock before deciding just to burst into it. Impulsiveness for the win. The sound of vomit chunks splashing into the toilet froze Adam as the bathroom door slammed shut behind him. A groan and cough echoed through the bathroom. The soles of Patrick’s black shoes were visible under the sterile blue stall door.

“Patrick, you okay?”

For a second Adam thought his question would go ignored. “Peachy.”

“You need anything?”

Patrick’s heavy pants echoed in the toilet bowl. “As much as I consider us close...Oh wait, I _don’t_. Go away.”

Adam leaned against the sink. At least the biting tone was relatively normal. “Damn, I guess I need to throw away the friendship bracelet I made you.”

“Adam, I don’t need you here.”

“Yes, clearly you’re the picture of perfect mental health,” Adam drawled.

Adam watched as Patrick slowly raise to his feet. The other singer lingered in the stall before he yanked the door open after a flush. The taller man went straight for the sink, rinsing his mouth out. “Fuck off.”

“Does this happen before every performance?”

Patrick glared daggers at Adam in the mirror. “Just stressful ones. So _yeah_.”

Adam hummed. “At least you’re not sick.”

Patrick snorted. “Yes, thank God for my glorious luck.”

“You made it this far,” Adam pointed out.

“I’m sure you’d have that  _exact_ same mindset if you were in my shoes,” Patrick scoffed.

Adam shrugged. If he was in the Bottom 3, he wouldn’t be puking in the bathroom but he would definitely be lost in his head and thoroughly psyching himself out. It was one of Adam’s few talents. Then stressed him would hopefully start concentrating on his song. But that was most likely wishful thinking on his part. Last chance performers had maybe seven minutes top to get their act together. He glanced at his watch. Fuck, Patrick didn’t much longer. “Do you have a song prepared?”

Patrick's reflection glared. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Adam said.

“Well _stop_ ,” Patrick snapped. “I did nothing to encourage this.”

“This what?”

“Following me in the bathroom and shit,” Patrick said. “I just want to be left _alone_.”

“Then that’d really fuck up your shot at The Voice,” Adam said. “You have a shot of making it to the next round but instead of focusing on your song and performance, you’re in here. I get nerves.  _Trust me_. But don’t let them ruin your chance.”

Patrick closed his eyes, leaning heavily on the sink. “I can’t believe you’re actually trying to help me.”

“Not everyone is an asshole,” Adam said.

Patrick cracked open an eye. “You are an asshole.”

Adam shrugged. “But not heartless.”

“Apparently,” Patrick grunted.

“So what song _are_ you singing?”

Patrick sighed. Sweat still glistened on his forehead. “Viva la Vida or Welcome to the Jungle.”

“Do Viva la Vida,” Adam advised. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “It’ll show off your range. Plus it’s more different than your performance last night. Blake loves versatile artists.”

Patrick nodded slowly. “I’m only taking your advice because Brent and Chelsea are probably fucking somewhere.”

“Chelsea is engaged,” Adam said. “To not Brent. She’s only mentioned it a few dozen times.”

Patrick shrugged. “I never paid attention. Or cared.”

“I sensed that,” Adam said.

“I’m really glad you’re not in the Bottom 3,” Patrick said.

Adam frowned. Did Patrick see him as his biggest competition? A small thrill went through him.

“Because I know I can’t come close to competing with Blake’s affection towards you,” Patrick said.

Adam blinked. A flush rose to his face, which was _stupid_ because Blake was affectionate and supportive to his entire team. “Blake always tries to be impartial in situations like this.”

Patrick smiled humorlessly at him. “Don’t delude yourself.”

A flicker of irritation ran through Adam. Blake wouldn’t let his person bias affect someone’s future. “Blake won't deliberately fuck with you.”

“Oh I know,” Patrick said. “Blake is a great coach. But he’s only human. His personal feelings are bound to affect his decisions.”

“Blake likes all of us pretty much the same.”

A snort escaped Patrick’s mouth.  “ _Right_. Now, I’m leaving. Some of us need to prepare for their last chance performance.”

 

_December 2011_

A dull pain went through his back when Adam threw himself against a plywood wall. He panted, holding his paintball gun up as he edged towards the side of the plywood barrier. Blake was fucking with him. He knew it. Adam grimaced at the blue that covered him head to toe. Adam hit Blake maybe once out of every five times. Blake, however, only missed Adam twice. But even though Adam was clearly losing, he couldn’t contain his excitement. God, he felt like a three year old with a puppy.

“Adam,” Blake sang, “come out, come out wherever you are!”

Adam peeked his head around the barrier, his breath puffing into the frigid air. He grinned. Blake’s back was to him. He swiftly swung his gun up and aimed at the country star. Blake was so close even Adam wasn’t worried about missing him. He smirked. City boys can’t shoot my ass...

He pulled the trigger.

“Motherfucker,” Adam swore.

Blake whipped around. His bore much less of Adam’s red paint than Adam had of his blue, but the country singer was still covered with an impressive amount of red splotches.

Adam raised his hands. “Don’t shoot, I’m out of ammo.”

Blake smirked, a speckle of red covering the corner of his mouth. “Rookies.”

“It’s not my fault,” Adam protested. Blake chuckled, lowering his paintball gun.

“I told you to carry extra paint cartridges with you,” Blake reminded.

“Yes, yes, you’re so smart,” Adam said.

"Especially since you waste more ammo as a novice."

"You could shoot before you could talk," Adam said.

“You’re more covered with paint that I remembered,” Blake said, eyes raking down Adam’s body. His tan paintball jumpsuit was covered with a fresh layer of bright blue. Adam was drenched, he knew. One of Blake’s pellets even exploded on his shoulder and completely covered the left side of his face.

Adam rolled his eyes, shoving his goggles onto his forehead. “It’s not that bad.”

“You could be mistaken for a smurf,” Blake said.

Adam glanced down. While most of Adam was covered, his chest was particularly soaking—because Blake was psychotic and liked to be consistent with his kill shots and nothing the country singer said would convince Adam otherwise. Adam repressed a smirk. He let his paintball gun hang limply in his hand. “And _you_ could be Knuckles.”

Blake frowned. “Who’s Knuckles?”

“From Sonic the Hedgehog?” Adam said. Blake’s confusion didn’t waver. “Okay, let me rephrase: You could be Clifford.”

“I think you’re colorblind,” Blake said. “Clifford is red and I hardly have any— _oof_!”

Adam laughed as his tackle sent them both tumbling to the ground. Adam ran a hand through his paint-covered hair and stroked Blake’s cheek with his freshly wet, blue hand. “You’re right. You’re more purple now.”

Blake squirmed underneath Adam, chest now delightfully covered. “Cheater.”

“No, I’m strategic,” Adam corrected, shifting his weight to his knees. Blake brought his hands to rest on Adam’s hips.

“I can’t say I fault your strategy,” Blake said.

Adam stared down from where he straddled the country singer. “Really? So I should use this tactic on every paintballer?”

Blake lowered his hands to Adam’s ass, squeezing slightly. “No, I don’t think it would be as effective.”

“Is that a fact?” Adam asked.

Blake nodded, his head catching straw. “I only speak the truth.”

Adam hummed, lowering his hands to the ground on either side of Blake’s head. “Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Blake said, his southern accent thickening.

Adam lowered his head, his eyes roving Blake’s face. The last time they had been this close...

“Adam,” Blake said, “don’t make me come up there.”

Adam smirked. “I can’t make the old man move.”

“I’m not _old_ , I’m—”

Adam darted down, mouth swallowing Blake’s words. Blake mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘asshole,’ but he quickly was distracted by Adam’s mouth. Adam’s chuckle turned into a moan as Blake’s tongue darted and explored his mouth. Blake was unexpectedly tender and delightfully rough, a balance Adam didn’t know anyone could master with ease. Yet here Blake was easily ensnaring Adam. Paint squelched as Adam shifted his head to get a better angle.

Adam dragged Blake’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting down slightly before sucking it soothingly. One of Blake’s hands snaked up to grip Adam’s hair, urging him closer. His other hand continued to knead Adam’s ass.

A warm, fuzzy feeling made the frontman dizzy. Fucking hell he could easily become addicted to Blake.

The high squeal of an opening gate sprang Adam off Blake faster than he thought possible. The country singer blinked slowly before jerking up. His hair was tangled, paint making straw spread like a crown around his head. Blake was decidedly more paint-covered than when he started. His chest now had swirls of blues, reds, and purples and his face had a defined handprint from where Adam originally dragged his hand down his cheek.

“Your mouth is purple,” Adam and Blake said in surprising synchronization. Their eyes proceeded to widen with the same synchronization.

“Y’all done?” Frank, Paintball Fest’s owner, called. He still wasn’t in view but the crunch of grass under his faded tennis shoes grew louder.

“Yeah,” Blake hollered. Adam rubbed at his mouth. Blake quickly followed suit.

“You’re making it worse,” Adam hissed. Blake’s frantic fingers spread the purple smear around his lips.

“So are you.”

Adam ran a hand through his hair, quickly checking to ensure it was still blue and wiped some over his mouth. He slapped the same wet, blue hand unceremonously across Blake’s surprised face as Frank turned the corner.

Frank laughed. “That’s not how we do paintball, Adam.”

Adam shrugged, smiling sheepishly. He lowered his hand from Blake’s face. His handprint was spread unexpectedly even on Blake’s face.  “I had to get him one last time.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Blake said dryly. Adam smiled pleasantly at him.

Frank cleared his throat. “I was just making sure y’all were alright. I heard the paintball guns stop.”

“Oh yeah, it was really fun,” Adam said. He glanced at Blake, whose blue eyes widened.

Adam frowned. “I didn’t think it would be _that_ bad. I don’t hate the country, you know.”

“What?” Blake said, blinking. “I mean, I knew you’d like paintball. This is right down your alley.”

“Covering you with paint and tucking and rolling like a badass? Yeah that sounds about right,” Adam said, turning towards Blake.

Blake threw an arm around Adam’s shoulder, his grip and momentum forcing the smaller man to keep facing Frank, who stood with increasing awkwardness. “Hey Frank do you mind taking a picture of us? I want to tweet about this.”

Frank’s face brightened. “Of my shop? Sure!”

Blake smiled, unzipping his jumpsuit’s side pocket and fishing out his phone with his miraculously mostly paint-free hand. “Make it a good one!”

Frank nodded, quickly retrieving Blake’s phone and running back to his original post.

“You have my handprint on your ass, darlin’,” Blake breathed as Frank fumbled with the phone.

Adam ignored the heat that shot to his groin. “Ah.”

“Smile, boys,” Frank called. Adam grinned until Frank lowered Blake’s phone. “Come on, I can show y'all to the spray off room. You can just toss your jumpsuits in a marked bin in there. I still can’t emphasize how much I appreciate your—”

Adam let Frank’s voice fade to a buzz as he and Blake followed. Blake’s red hand snagged Adam’s blue one. Adam glanced over, grin echoing Blake’s beam. A content feeling warmed Adam’s stomach. His only regret was that he and Blake hadn’t started sooner.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my first time writing any form of smut... You are all officially warned of probably very mediocre smut. Enjoy anyway!
> 
> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> April 2012 - Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“...and you would make a fantastic addition to my team,” Pharrell finished. “But this isn’t about me. This is about you. I would love to sculpt you into the artist that I envision. Your potential is endless. But first, you need to pick who feels right.”

The audience clapped and Ryan, the contestant, blinked at Pharrell’s pitch. Ryan looked sold. Adam bit his lip. His boyfriend would have issues trying to convince Ryan to join his team.

“Ryan, I’m already a fan of yours,” Blake said. Adam glanced at Blake. Using his stall technique even after Pharrell’s unsurprisingly lengthy pitch was not a good sign. “I was captivated by your tone. It’s unique but you sounded just like, uh...”

Blake was floundering so hard. The country singer frowned, throwing pleading eyes at Adam. And it never took much to convince him to assist his boyfriend.

“David Bowie?” Adam suggested from the other side of the stage.

“Yes!” Blake said. The Maroon 5 frontman saluted lazily. “But it was more than that. I could tell there was an...oh it’s at the tip of my tongue. Darlin’, what’s that band that was on the radio?”

“How are you even a musician?” Adam asked. “You’re so embarrassing.”

Blake grimaced. “So you don’t know the band?”

“It’s Magic.”

Blake frowned.

Adam huffed. “ _Why you gotta be so rude? Don’t you know I’m human too?_ ”

“Ah, yes! Them!” Blake exclaimed, face brightening. He turned back to a bemused Ryan. “Anyway...where was I?”

“I don’t think you even know,” Gwen teased.

“You’re talking about Ryan’s unique tone and his commanding stage presence,” Adam reminded. “Don’t forget to mention how you have experience, on The Voice and professionally, in the pop rock genre.”

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Blake said.

“And where are you from, Ryan?” Adam asked.

Blake smiled, pointing at Adam. “So on top of things.”

“I’m from Oklahoma City,” Ryan said.

 _“Wow_. And you forgot to ask him,” Adam scolded. “Sorry, Ryan. I swear he’s usually more on top of shit. He’s actually a strategic and helpful coach.”

“Can I start over my pitch?” Blake asked.

“You probably have to,” Adam said.

“So Ryan, as one Oklahoman to another...” 

 

_June 2011_

“Why did Patrick just offer to blow you?” Blake asked, approaching Adam in The Voice lounge. Adam smirked at Patrick’s retreating back. The blond practically skipped down the hall. And by skipping, Adam meant he wasn’t determinedly glowering at every passing figure. He even patted Chelsea and Brent on the back when the artists were eliminated. Adam almost had a heart attack.

“I have that effect on people,” Adam said. “Did he not offer to blow you?”

“As much as The Voice encourages comradery between coaches and contestants, I don’t think they would condone that,” Blake drawled.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Adam said.

Blake sighed. “You’re going to cause me so much trouble.”

“Who me?” Adam asked, batting his eyelashes.

“That somehow does not reassure me,” Blake said dryly.

“So what now? Awesome after party?” Adam asked.

Blake chuckled. “Not for me, I’m exhausted. But I’m sure you can manage to conjure up enough party participants.”

“You’re so lame,” Adam lamented. “I should’ve picked a different coach.”

Blake hummed, staring down the hallway. Adam turned and followed his gaze. A tearful Chelsea hugged her fiancé.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Adam said.

Blake blinked, focusing on the shorter man. He studied Adam for a second before his smirk faded, leaving a ragged, uncertain man behind. “I know, but after every elimination I feel so guilty no matter who I save or send home. And it only gets worse.”

Adam placed a hesitant hand on Blake’s shoulder. He turned his big blue eyes towards Adam. “It’s like you said, The Voice is just a stepping stone. Brent and Chelsea know you won’t abandon them.”

Blake’s eye darted back down the hall. “But...”

“Of course it hurts now,” Adam said. “It just happened. She wants to succeed. She _needs_ to succeed. And guess what? She can still do that with you. You know which studios to call, what types of deals they should take, _who_ they should deal with. Blake, people join The Voice because of the coaches. You guys offer something hardly anyone gets a shot at. Stop moping and be useful.”

Blake sighed. “You’re right...”

“Duh.”

Blake’s face softened at Adam’s scoff. “So you’re just using me for my connections?”

“You know me, I have to make it big in the country industry or no industry,” Adam said dryly.

“That is why I pressed my button for you,” Blake said.

“I knew it,” Adam said. “Now go down the hall and comfort Chelsea like you’ve been wanting to since you arrived.”

Uncertainty flashed across Blake’s face. “But she’s with her fiancé...I don’t want to intrude.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Dude, you are her coach and literally one of the few people who will make her feel legitimately better about her singing career. Go forth and encourage.”

“You’re so eloquent.”

“Shut up. You know I’m right,” Adam said. “And actually encourage. Don’t do that weird shit you pulled earlier. That was cringe-worthy. I felt like I was on The Office.”

“Eloquent and inspiring,” Blake said. “You will make it far in life.”

“Don’t be a dickwad,” Adam said.

Blake chuckled. “I’ll text you later and we’ll coordinate our next practice session.”

“Sounds good,” Adam said. He offered a hand, expecting Blake to take it—like a normal person—for a short hug. Instead, his hand was completely bypassed as the country singer stepped into Adam’s personal bubble and wrapped his arms tightly around the shorter man. Blake’s heat engulfed Adam. He squirmed against Blake’s solid, and surprisingly comfortable, mass, wiggling his pent up arm out from where it was awkwardly wedged between both their chests. Adam returned the embrace slowly. He patted Blake’s back a few times, simultaneously hoping to signal the other man to get off him and sinking deeper into the embrace. Blake eventually released Adam five long seconds later.

Not that he was counting.

Blake stepped away and Adam resisted the urge to shiver at the sudden loss of heat.

“Night, Adam,” Blake said.

“Night,” Adam said to Blake’s retreating back. Chelsea gave a bittersweet smile as her ex-coach approached her.

“Blake gives the best hugs,” Carson said.

Adam jerked around to see the host and producer standing only a few feet to his left.  “When did you get here?”

“Not too long ago,” Carson shrugged, loosening his tie. “Long enough to see Blake molest you.”

Adam shrugged, knowing—irritatingly and stupidly—that he was most definitely blushing. Fucking hell. Adam blamed the adrenaline rush the first round of eliminations gave him. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He eventually gets like that with everybody on his team,” Carson said. “I think you’re the first victim.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that honor goes to Raelynn,” Adam said.

“I don’t know,” Carson mused, “you and Blake compete with the Blusher bromance.”

Adam snorted. “I’m sure we do.”

“So I just wanted to give you a heads up about something,” Carson said after a pause.

Adam’s stomach slowly began knotting. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” Carson said. “This is really NBC’s fault.”

“Not really making me feel better, Carson.”

 “It’s just a few rumors circulating online,” Carson said, eyes focusing determinedly past Adam. “Not many, but they’ll only get worse further into the competition.”

“Carson, use your words,” Adam ordered.

“The NBC montage video just sparked speculation that you and Blake are in a relationship and that you’re using it as leverage over Blake,” Carson said. “NBC didn’t realize this would happen, obviously.”

Adam blinked. He never even contemplated the mass public gossiping about his sexuality. Not that they focused so much on his sexuality as his "relationship" with Blake. It was unnerving how strangers immediately assumed the worst about him based off rumors, albeit partially accurate ones. “Isn’t Blake dating Miranda?”

Carson’s face twitched, a frown momentarily taking over his features before he smoothed his expression. “He always denied it to the press. He’s very private about his personal life. To everyone.”

“Still, I doubt anyone will ever genuinely believe Blake and I are fucking,” Adam dismissed. Despite how Blake’s wit and glibness were surprisingly charming and how he made the tall, earnest country boy vibe work for him. Blake was naturally handsome anyway and that was without his constant beam brightening—fuck wait. Stop. Blake is his _straight_ friend and coach. “Besides don’t theories of contestant and judge relationships always circulate?”

“Unfortunately,” Carson said. “I just wanted you prepared just in case paps or someone confronts you.”

Adam lazily saluted. “I will keep love confessions to a minimum.”

Carson smiled, shaking his head. “Good, now I’m heading home. Some of us were commanded to grab a last minute birthday gift.”

“Sounds riveting,” Adam said. “I’m attempting to rally up some troops.”

“Disappointed by The Voice’s lack of party?” Carson guessed. “The Blinds weeks are always more thrilling. NBC is still trying to impress the contestants then.”

“Pretty much,” Adam said. “I get that the schedule is more hectic and people are more stressed but—”

“The Voice’s after parties will return eventually,” Carson said. “After contestants get used to the Lives.”

Adam hummed. “I suppose I’ll believe you. Can’t believe NBC is caring about the contestants’ health and anxiety. What’s wrong with you guys?”

“I know, we’re such tyrants,” Carson said, pushing away from the wall. “Good luck gathering partiers.”

“Good luck with the present,” Adam called as the host ambled towards the exit with a backwards wave. His hazel eyes flickered down the hallway. Blake and Chelsea had vanished a while ago. He turned and marched down the hallway, determined to find Raelynn and Jermaine—fuck, maybe even Patrick. They survived the first round of Lives. Some serious celebrating was required. It was _LA._ They could definitely find something awesome.

_December 2011_

Tour had taken an inevitable hiatus during Christmas week. The hiatus, however, had the unfortunate timing of occurring four days after he and Adam became a couple. And as much as Blake loved staying in Oklahoma surrounded by family and good food, a part of him—a huge part, actually—longed for the Maroon 5 frontman. But Adam and the rest of Maroon 5 left for LA, as expected.

Adam loudly congratulated Blake on holding his 10 day hiatus during Hanukah while pretending to faint when crew was around while smiling gratefully in the privacy of Blake’s trailer. Ever since they started dating—a thrill still went through Blake that Adam Levine was his boyfriend—they had been attached to this hip, more so than usual.

Adam and Blake’s last night had them cuddled in Blake’s trailer, Blake peppering the groggy and pliant Maroon 5 singer with kisses, strategically avoiding the various food items surrounding them. Adam’s doppy smile was tinged with melancholy when he finally left. And Blake couldn’t even call Adam a sap because he missed Adam the moment he left his trailer on December 20th. 

But it was the 30th now. Blake had abandoned the pretense he was doing anything but excitedly waiting for Adam to return roughly an hour ago. Hank grumbled and left Blake soon after. But even Blake’s manager smiled slightly at his antics. Which was good because Blake’s antics were either incredibly annoying or endearing. But Blake knew Adam was just as eager to see him, which made the occasional raised eyebrow roll right off his back.

He and Adam texted constantly during the hiatus. Blake’s family nosily interrogated him about his constantly buzzing phone. His sister, Endy, nearly stole his phone six times. But Blake refused to give it up despite her constant taunting that he finally found a new boyfriend. It didn’t matter how old they got, siblings would forever act like annoying preteens to each other. Blake avoided his mother’s knowing gaze the entire holiday.

Blake continued his circuit around the tour buses, dodging around crew members. His watch persistently flashed 2:31. Damn, Adam should be here. Not that the trip from LA to Colorado was a breeze but Blake irrationally wanted Adam here immediately. Actually yesterday or last week would have been better...

Of course, Blake constantly staring at his watch didn’t particularly help.

Blake turned to a flurry of limbs. He wrapped his arms around the mass reflexively, grunting as he took a step back.

“Adam!” Blake cried, beaming down at his boyfriend. Adam grinned, dark hair peeking under his beanie and dark circles still under his eyes. Blake gripped his arms around Adam tighter. Adam was _here_. Under many thick layers, but _here._ “What took you so long, rock star?”

“Playing hard to get,” Adam said. Maroon 5 fanned behind him. Jesse offered Blake a faint smile and Matt nodded to him. His grin widened. He was winning over Adam’s friends. Slowly but surely. “Obviously.”

“It worked all too well,” Hank said, appearing behind Blake and not batting an eye at Adam and Blake’s current entanglement. “Blake pestered the crew the entire day.”

Blake flushed slightly. “Not the _entire_ day.”

Hank leveled Blake with a single raised eyebrow. He turned back to Adam. “Entertain Blake and make sure y’all get enough sleep. The New Year’s Eve concert is tomorrow and we don’t want two of our acts drifting off on stage.”

Adam saluted. “I’ll keep an eye on Bigfoot.”

Hank nodded tersely before turning his heel and heading towards Bucky and Rick.

Adam practically vibrated next to him. His eyes shined as he stared up at the country singer from under his arm. Blake knew his expression was equally as sickening and sappy.

“Go,” Jesse said. “Hank’s orders.”

“Yes, please go,” Mickey said. “You’ve been a pain the entire trip here.”

“Love you guys too,” Adam said.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you want to do anything, but vanish with Blake.”

Adam’s nonchalant shrug did nothing to diminish his obvious giddiness.

“Go, have fun,” Matt urged. “Happy holidays, Blake.”

Blake smiled. “They’ve been a good one. How were—”

“Everyone had lovely holidays,” Adam interrupted. Blake glanced down to his boyfriend in amusement. “Reuniting with family and loved ones and all that jazz. Let’s go to your trailer.”

Jesse smirked. “Right, let’s go where we’re wanted, guys.”

Adam waved absently behind him, dragging the country singer to his own trailer. Adam nodded at crew members they passed.

“Not even trying to be subtle, darlin’?” Blake murmured, noting with pleasure that Adam’s grin widened at the pet name.

“You say that like any of this behavior is new to them,” Adam countered. “We were nauseating before hiatus, according to Jesse. But Jesse willingly chooses to stuff his tongue down my brother’s throat so clearly his judgement is questionable.”

Blake blinked. “Jesse is gay?”

“And dating my brother? My _baby_ brother, no less! So I feel obligated to sit them both down and tell them not to hurt each other. God, if they weren’t so obviously—disgustingly—in love I would worry about the repercussions of their breakup. I still do sometimes,” Adam ranted before refocusing on Blake. “But yeah. He’s gay.”

Blake nodded, opening his trailer door for Adam. “Sounds semi-dramatic.”

“It was only semi-dramatic when they first started fucking around during our senior year,” Adam said, throwing off his winter coat and plopping down on Blake’s worn couch. Blake locked the trailer door behind him. “They attempted to sneak around. Every time Michael or Jesse gave me an obvious excuse it just made me shudder. I support them as a couple, now anyway, but, fuck, I do _not_ want to have a mental image of their writhing, sweaty bodies... Ugh, fuck, I just made myself picture it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Blake said, bending over and caging Adam with his arms. The Maroon 5 singer blinked slowly up at him, smirking slightly. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

Adam’s face softened. “I missed you too, babe.”

A coil of warmth curled in Blake’s stomach. Blake lowered his head, capturing Adam’s lips with his own. Adam quickly wrapped his arms around Blake’s neck, tongues tangling. The country singer tapped Adam’s arms slightly and the frontman loosened his grip. Adam shifted his hold and tightened his fingers in Blake’s hair as Blake ducked his head towards Adam’s neck. Waves of pleasure rippled through Blake ass Adam’s fingers dug into his scalp.

“So many layers,” Blake murmured. Adam writhed under Blake’s mouth.

“It is winter,” Adam said, hand sliding under Blake’s sweater. “And pot meet kettle.”

Blake hissed as Adam’s cold fingers circled up his chest and around his nipple. The Maroon 5 singer smiled wickedly, ducking his head under the woolen fabric. Blake’s pants grew tighter as Adam’s warm tongue swirled around his chest, sloppily sucking his way to Blake’s nipples. Blake groaned, throwing his sweater to the side of the couch. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Adam’s tongue lapped on one of Blake’s nipple, biting it before moving to the other one. Blake’s arms trembled. “I did get you a present,” Adam said against Blake’s chest.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Blake said, fingers tracing Adam's arm tattoos. “ _You_ make me happy.”

Adam’s looked up, hazel eyes dancing. “Are you just saying that because you didn’t get me anything?”

“Of course I got you something,” Blake said, leaning down to press his lips against Adam’s forehead. “I was just hoping that you would’ve forgotten so I could be recompensated with sexual favors.”

Adam chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You can make it up to me,” Blake teased, tilting his head down. Adam’s smiled into Blake’s kiss. Blake slid his hand up the frontman’s shirt—some hipster bohemian sweater Blake didn’t understand—running his hands across the warm ridges of hard muscle.

“Enjoying yourself?” Adam asked, splayed on the couch under Blake. A surge of possession made heat flood into his dick.

“Always,” Blake said, dragging Adam’s sweater over his head. He offered no resistance, gripping Blake’s back as soon as his arms were free. Blake started at Adam’s neck, nipping and sucking. The frontman moaned, lulling his head to the side to give Blake better access. The country singer wetly kissed his way down Adam’s chest, hands resting on the hem of Adam’s pants in silent question. He looked up at Adam’s hooded gaze, his hazel only a thin outline.

Adam nodded, running his fingers through Blake’s hair. Blake moaned as his mouth returned to Adam’s skin, tracing one of Adam’s many tattoos with his tongue. God, Blake didn’t know that ink had such an effect on him until Adam. Of course, Adam always seemed to be the exception for everything. Blake unzipped the frontman's pants, dragging the skinny jeans down his legs.

“Fuck, how’d you even get these on?” Blake asked.

Adam panted as Blake’s teeth dragged across his inner thigh. Adam’s cock already gleamed from precum. “Practice.”

“They make me want to rip them off,” Blake murmured.

“Rip them and I’ll kill you,” Adam said, still vaguely threatening under his breathy tone. “They’re Marc Jacobs.”

Blake paused. Adam groaned, cracking an eye open to glare down at him. “Even _I_ know who that is. Why did you spend so much on _pants_?”

Adam huffed. “Because I like them. Shit Blake, I was a songwriter for a popular music studio, not a hobo.”

“They’re just jeans. I don’t understand,” Blake frowned.

“They’re _Marc Jacobs_ ,” Adam snapped, fingers urging Blake’s head back down going ignored. “I like nice clothes. Now—”

“And your pants look nice, unbelievably so, but—”

“Blake, suck my dick or I swear to God I will slit your throat and sell your carcass on eBay after I— _fuck..._ ”

Blake smirked as Adam’s nails scrapped against his scalp. He widened his mouth, taking in more of Adam. He dragged his tongue down Adam’s shaft, swirling his tongue around Adam’s head. Blake hummed as Adam groaned obscenities above him. Damn, he would never be over how vocal Adam was.

Blake’s grip tightened around the frontman’s hips, moving them slightly with the bob of his head. Adam caught his hint with a prolonged “fuck, Blake....” His hips began thrusting slowly into Blake’s mouth, picking up speed with the country singer’s rhythm and encouraging hum.

He stared up at Adam. The frontman looked ravished. His head thrown back against the couch, flush spreading down to his chest. Sweat glimmered on Adam’s face, his hazel eyes closed and mouth never pausing between swears and sweet murmurings. Marks already reddened around Adam’s body, especially at the curve of his neck. Blake’s dick twitched.

Adam’s bitter precum coated Blake’s mouth, his cock moving rapidly in and out Blake’s tight lips. Blake smirked at Adam’s strangled noise when he deep-throated his cock.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Adam panted, tugging at Blake’s hair.

Blake gave Adam a final suck before pulling off, wetly mapping Adam’s hip bone with his tongue as his other hand gripped Adam’s straining cock. Adam yanked Blake up by his hair, messily meeting Blake’s mouth with his own. Adam’s tongue explored his mouth, groaning when he came a few strokes later.

Adam’s cock softened in Blake’s hand. Adam pushed Blake to the side, smirking when the country singer landed on the couch with an oof.

“Like being on top?” Blake asked huskily, as Adam spread his bare legs and straddled the country singer. Blake’s cock tented his jeans. Adam grinded down on Blake. A raw wave of pleasure shook the country singer.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Adam said, effectively shutting Blake up with his mouth. To be fair, it was a very distracting mouth. “Let’s see how long you last, Big Country.”

The challenge in Adam's eyes shouldn't have sent the jolt straight to Blake's cock. But who was he to complain? Adam left Blake with rough kiss, quickly heading down south. his eyes rolled to the back of his head when Adam’s dark hair ducked down, nuzzling Blake’s hard-on.

“Emphasis on Big Country,” Adam said.

Blake’s response dried in his throat. He could only gawk as Adam proceeded to undo Blake’s button and zipper with his mouth, hands sliding down the denim. Adam’s warm hands pulled Blake’s boxers down. He grinned wickedly up at Blake. Desire coiled in his groin, precum already wetting his cock. He didn’t know how much he needed Adam smirking next to his cock until now. Fuck, Blake was definitely going to keep this mental picture in his head for the future.

Blake ran his hands through Adam’s hair, his usually styled hair matted against the side of his head. Adam’s warm breath puffed against Blake’s straining cock. “Adam...”

“Hmm? Did you need something, babe?” Adam asked. The frontman’s stubble rubbed against Blake’s thigh as Adam lazily licked around Blake’s leaking cock.

Blake barely had the frame of mind to glare down at Adam on principle. Adam chuckled, his tongue licking a long stroke down Blake’s dick. The frontman paused, swirling his tongue around Blake’s tip while his lightly squeezed each of his balls. Small waves of pleasure began building up.

And then Adam’s warm mouth wrapped around his cock.  Adam, as with everything in relation to his mouth, was very precise and effortlessly talented. His tongue stiffened as he bobbed his head. White flashes sparked through Blake as Adam's tongue swirled around his shaft. Blake groaned. _Fuck_ this should not feel this good.

Adam kneaded Blake’s ass with his hands, his quick rhythm and tight suction never faltering. Blake’s pants echoed through the trailer. Adam went impossibly faster. He was so fucking close. Hazel eyes flickered up. Blake groaned as he stared at Adam’s slick lips tightly wrapped around his cock. _Fuck_...

Blake yanked Adam off. The frontman blinked as Blake hefted him back up the couch and buried his face in Adam’s neck. He groaned as his cum shot against Adam’s thigh. Adam petted Blake’s hair, kissing him lightly.

The country singer relaxed into the couch. Fuck he hadn’t felt this loose in a while. Adam shifted next to him, his slick leg sliding against Blake as Adam cuddled the country singer. “You’re not one of those people who falls asleep after sex, are you?”

“Nah,” Blake murmured.

“I’d be more convinced if your eyes were open,” Adam said.

“Shhh,” Blake shushed, leaning his head down to nuzzle Adam.

“Wanna see your present?” Adam asked.

Blake cracked his eye open. “You have it with you?”

“Yeah, I gave it to Tina so she could stash it in here,” Adam said. “Because I’m a genius.”

“Tina is a lovely human,” Blake said.

“The best,” Adam said, fingers lightly brushing his hair. “So I notice how you’re not moving.”

“Very apt of you,” Blake said. “I similarly observe how you’re not moving.”

Adam burrowed closer to Blake. “We seem to be in a predicament.”

“We’ll open the presents later,” Blake declared. “Your present is in here too.”

“If only Hank would serve us food in here,” Adam mused.

“I have some beef jerky somewhere.”

“We’re set then,” Adam said, warm breath puffing against Blake’s neck. “I officially have no reason to move.”

Blake smiled down at Adam, pressing his lips softly against his dark hair. Tattooed limbs tangled with Blake’s tanner ones. Adam slotted so naturally next to him. Blake laid his cheek on the top of Adam’s head.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit,” Adam said.

“Just a bit,” Blake agreed.

“Like fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thirty top,” Adam murmured.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

 

_June 2011_

“Um...I’ll have a double scoop of raspberry chip,” Raelynn told the middle-aged lady behind the counter. Raelynn glanced nervously back at Jermaine and Adam. Jermaine sucked his shake’s straw as Adam’s tongue darted over his cookie dough ice cream. “Sorry, I know this isn’t as exciting as you were hoping.”

“How dare you be sixteen,” Adam said. “I can’t believe you would deliberately make yourself a minor.”

“Very inconsiderate of you,” Jermaine said.

“Besides, we _all_ made it through the Lives,” Adam continued. “We had to celebrate somewhere since The Voice failed at providing us an appropriate venue.”

Raelynn smiled, grabbing her ice cream cone. The trio wandered to the booth in the back. Jermaine remained in his dark pants and dress shirt but Raelynn traded her sparkly black dress for dark jeans, a long red shirt Raelynn insisted was a tunic and, unsurprisingly, boots. Adam had escaped the leather confines on his pants as soon as the cameras stopped rolling.

“God that was nerve-wracking,” Raelynn said.

“But we made it,” Jermaine said.

“All my friends from home keep texting me,” Raelynn said. “Apparently they had a viewing party at school for me.”

“Aren’t you popular?” Adam teased.

“Not particularly, but everyone loves Blake Shelton and The Voice so...”

“Eh, Blake is okay I guess,” Adam said, licking his ice cream.

“Did you sing a lot at your school?” Jermaine asked.

“Yeah, but mostly the National Anthem before football games and stuff like that,” Raelynn said. “I sang at a few fairs. But my school got rid of the talent show after Bobby Duke accidentally set the front row seats on fire.”

“Accidentally or _accidentally_?” Adam asked.

“Accidentally,” Raelynn said. “He was juggling blowtorches and one got away from him.”

“Ah yes, an amateur juggler with blowtorches,” Adam said dryly. “How could that possibly end badly?”

Raelynn rolled her eyes. “It sounds bad when you phrase it like that.”

“What’s a positive way to frame that?”

“A blowtorch only got away with him after he tripped on a loose board,” Raelynn said.

“So an amateur juggler with blowtorches and a rickety stage?” Adam asked.

Raelynn huffed. “You can’t just keep twisting words to suit you.”

“I’m repeating the facts,” Adam said.

“I feel like the cashier keeps glaring over here,” Jermaine murmured. Raelynn turned to stare at the employee.

“Probably because we look like we kidnapped Raelynn,” Adam said loudly.

Raelynn shushed him. “You just made her eyes widen.”

“Don’t say things like that out loud,” Jermaine reprimanded.

“I’m just saying what she was thinking,” Adam protested. “Two grown men with a teenage girl? Kind of suspicious. Plus we bribed her compliance with ice cream, which is the epitome of sketchiness.”

“I bought my own ice cream,” Raelynn objected.

Adam waved his hands. “Details.”

“You’re not helping the situation,” Jermaine said.

“We’re not kidnapping Rae,” Adam called back to the cashier.

“Oh my God, Adam...” Raelynn groaned. “I know them, I swear.”

“Maybe we should leave Adam here,” Jermaine mused.

The country singer nodded. “I’m okay with this plan.”

“Hey,” Adam protested.

“Nope, you’ve proved yourself socially incompetent,” Jermaine said.

“You are the weakest link,” Raelynn said.

“I was just assuring that dear precious worker that we aren’t kidnappers,” Adam said. “You’re welcome for diverting that particular conflict.”

“I’m sorry, but I need you three to leave,” the cashier said. “You’re disturbing the customers.”

Jermaine gave Adam a pointed look as Raelynn grabbed her ice cream cone and napkins.

“We’re the only ones in here,” Adam said. The cashier's glare didn't lighten.

Jermaine dragged Adam out of his chair. “Sorry about him. He’s not always like this. He is most of the time, but not always.”

“I’m vaguely offended,” Adam said.

“He’s actually a nice person,” Raelynn added as she followed Jermaine and Adam out of the door. The cashier watched the trio warily.

“Only you could get us kicked out of an ice cream shop,” Jermaine said, releasing Adam as soon as they stepped into the bustling LA streets.

Raelynn sighed. “Adam, we can’t take you anywhere.”

“It’s cool. I know another place we can go,” Adam said.

“So this is why you have to live in a city,” Raelynn said. “Or else you would run out of places you weren’t banned from entering.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “This doesn’t actually happen to me a lot. Besides, she’ll forget about us in a few days anyways. Then we can return.”

“Yeah, that somehow doesn’t help your case,” Raelynn said.

“I can’t wait to see Blake’s face when he finds out what a terrible influence you are,” Jermaine said.

Raelynn snorted. "Like Blake would honestly be surprised."

 

_June 2012_

Aly actually leaned into the embrace as Adam hugged her. Adam snuck up on the guitarist in the musician’s pit behind the mainstage as soon as The Voice episode ended. The other musicians either jerked back in surprise or nodded at Adam depending on if they were season 2 veterans or not. “Lucas is displeased with you.”

“Me? But I’m so charming,” Adam said.

Mirth flickered in the guitarist’s eyes. Her sleek hair sharply framed her face. “You stole Matt.”

“More like bribed him away,” Adam said.

“Ah yes, that is much better,” Aly said.

“So how have you been?” Adam asked.

“I've been playing music for NBC or teaching guitar at my studio,” Aly said. “Nothing as exciting as you.”

“I said you could join us,” Adam reminded.

“You did,” Aly said. “But I couldn’t give Lucas another reason to murder you.”

“I do appreciate that,” Adam said.

“You!” Lucas called.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Aly said. Adam snorted.

“Lucas!” Adam replied cheerily. “You look positively glowing.”

“Only musicians are allowed in the pit,” Lucas said, crossing his arms.

“I am a musician,” Adam pointed out.

The stout man huffed. “A Voice musician.”

Adam hummed. “But I dropped something in here and had to retrieve it.”

“Really,” Lucas drawled. “What was that?”

“A piece of my heart.”

Aly scoffed, but allowed Adam to reach and wrap an arm around her.

“Oh no, I am not letting you steal another one of my musicians,” Lucas said.

“Matt will be thrilled to hear how much his departure affected you,” Adam said.

Lucas shook his head. “Get out of my pit.”

“Lucas is such a sweetie pie,” Adam said. “So glad some things never change.”

“And Adam?” Lucas said, turning back. “It’s good seeing you again.”

Adam grinned. “Ditto.”

“Now get out.”

Adam pulled Aly into a quick hug. “For unrelated reasons, I decided to leave and invade the singer's lounge.”

Aly smirked. “Don’t party too hard.”

“I’m practically famous,” Adam said. “I party hard every day.”

 

* * *

 

Adam sidled next to Blake. The country singer raised his nondescript cup to his lips, leaning against the portable bar.

“I’m surprised Shakira let you keep this in here. Everything else looks like a daycare,” Adam said, nodding to the baby toys tucked in the corner. Contestants, coaches, various crew, and producers all scattered across the lounge. The pulsing lights from season 2 were replaced by the normal fluorescent bulbs and the vibrating speakers were nowhere to be seen. Contestants held the occasional beer or martini but it looked more like a charming cocktail party than the rave some of season 2 parties seemed to turn into.

“Seniority,” Blake shrugged, offering Adam a beer.

Adam grabbed it, sliding his fingers against Blake’s. He critically eyed the lounge. “This is so much more...”

“Mature?”

“I was going to say boring, but yeah,” Adam said.

Blake shifted, lazily stretching his arm behind Adam on the bar. “Some of us don’t want to party all night and lose hearing.”

“Yeah, old people,” Adam said.

Blake chuckled. “You’re not far behind, rock star.”

Adam bristled. “I’m not old.”

“Course not.”

“ _You’re_ old.”

Blake took a slow sip, reaching forward and running his thumb over Adam’s pout. Adam resisted doing anything other than raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re three years younger than me.”

“So you’ll forever be older than me?” Adam asked. “Grandpa?”

“Kinky.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Blake, you can’t sexually harass everyone,” Usher teased, slinging an arm around Blake. Blake stiffened minutely. Adam’s eyes narrowed as the country singer straightened, his rapidly retreating arm allowing a sudden onslaught of cold air on the frontman’s back.

“It’s just Adam,” Blake dismissed, shifting his weight so he no longer pressed against Adam. However, his boyfriend's shift put him closer to Usher. Adam’s hazel eyes narrowed.

“Adam does not deserve this treatment,” Usher reprimanded. Adam forced himself to take a deep breath. It was just Usher, Jesus Christ. Even though Usher wasn't technically supposed to be here. Pharrell replaced him as coach for season 3. But Usher was Blake's guest advisor this round and insisted on watching the performances. Because he cared. Prick. Adam cleared his throat. 

“Just Adam.  You know, my sales pitch since the dawn of time,” Adam mocked in a heavy southern drawl. Usher chuckled.

“I don’t sound like that,” Blake protested. “And I barely used you.”

Usher scoffed. " _Right_."

“Yeah I have to disagree with you, Blake," Pharrell said, nodding at Adam as he slid next to the bar. "The entire Blinds was essentially name dropping Adam. He brought you up even when you had zero relevance.”

“Aww it’s like he cared,” Adam cooed.

“You know I do,” Blake said.

Adam repressed a smile at Blake’s instinctive response. Usher sipped his drink, unfazed.

“You’re such a sap,” Adam teased.

“The sappiest,” Usher agreed, the arm draped across Blake’s shoulders squeezing the country singer. “I swear you’re the reason the bromance rumors are so bad.”

“Who can resist that jawline?” Blake asked, running a hand down the hinge of Usher’s jaw. And Usher let him of course. Because he’s Usher and Blake is Blake and they’ve been friends since before Adam wandered onto The Voice set.

Adam ignored the twisting in his stomach, pointedly ignoring Pharrell's frown. “You lover boys have fun. Keep the bromance alive and all that. I’m going to make nice with everybody else.”

Adam gulped his drink, pretending that the bitter taste was just beer. He ignored Blake’s probing gaze as he wandered to the other side of the lounge. Fucking ridiculous. Adam _knew_ how tactile Blake was. He couldn’t flip shit every time Blake was around his friends.

Did the Okie miss Usher?  Usher was literally Blake's guest mentor this week and apparently he hung around The Voice after parites like a creep. Blake clung to Adam before tonight's show. Was it too much to ask for his boyfriend not to drop him as soon as his friend came along? Adam _knew_ they were keeping their relationship on the down low—Fuck, even if Adam was publically out, he still wouldn’t want to broadcast their relationship to relative strangers. But it felt like Blake gravitated towards Usher as soon as he was within a ten foot radius. Usher and Blake were close. But surely, Usher could give Adam and Blake some space. Surely, Blake could resist the temptation to touch Usher constantly.

Adam breathed in deeply. He needed to calm the fuck down.

“Are you okay?”

Adam jerked towards the concerned blonde. Shakira frowned while balancing a drooling baby on her hip. Adam softened his face. “Just tired. How’s this little guy?”

A smile bloomed on Shakira’s face. “Milan is cranky because it’s past his bedtime. But did his papà listen and take him home? No, he didn’t. Maybe you _and_ Adam can go to bed early.”

Milan gurgled, smiling toothlessly as his mother cooed near his face.

“So Milan comes here a lot?” Adam asked.

“Yes, he caused quite the stir at first,” Shakira said. “But everyone got used to him.”

“And I’m sure Milan got used to the scary sights of The Voice, looming Okie and all,” Adam said.

Shakira took the pen Milan clutched out of his mouth. Milan’s lip wavered instantly. “I wish that my contestants and I had as close of a relationship as you and Blake.”

Adam smiled. Yeah he didn’t think NBC would quite approve. Or Shakira’s partner. “We’re pretty great.”

“So did you two really first meet on The Voice?” Shakira asked. Milan moaned pathetically. Shakira swayed back and forth. "You both get along so great."

“Oh yeah, I had no idea who Blake was before I auditioned,” Adam said. “Happy accident that I went with my gut at picked Blake.” A shiver ran through the frontman. How different would his life be if Blake never turned around? Or if he picked someone else?

“That’s crazy,” Shakira said. Milan chose that moment to scrunch his face and let out a loud wail. The Columbian singer bounced the bawling Milan, murmuring to him in soft Spanish. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, Adam. But I need to take the little one out. I hope to see you later.”

Adam nodded, finishing his beer bottle as Shakira marched towards the door. Nearby contestants and crew parted before her. And apparently Shakira’s abrupt absence encouraged lingering contestants to pounce. The nearby contestants were not Blake’s so Adam knew none of them when they set their sights on him.

“You were really good,” a short woman said. Adam smiled and nodded. Fuck he should’ve actually watched The Voice past the Blinds. She looked vaguely familiar with her bushy black hair, but he had no idea what she sounded like or her name.

“You made it look so easy,” a nearby guy added. His hair was smoothed back, but he left his bangs strategically loose and tousled. “I almost fainted during my first live performance and yet you and Christina effortlessly rocked the house. Did you learn all your performance skills during The Voice or was that all you?”

“Both, I guess,” Adam said. “I always thrived during a live performance, but The Voice forces you to get out of your comfort zone. I think the stress actually helps me.”

The guy gave a short laugh. Adam didn’t miss how he casually shifted his body towards Adam, semi-blocking the girl. “I wish I had that talent. I always get so nervous.”

“Nerves are natural,” Adam said. “You just have to harness it. Trust me, just go to your coach with any of your concerns. They _want_ to help you. I wouldn’t be here without Blake.”

“Christina still intimidates me at times,” the guy said, leaning in conspiratorially. Adam resisted taking a step back. His breath stank faintly of alcohol and he was definitely much closer to Adam than was socially acceptable. But Blake’s eyes hadn’t flickered away from Adam since Shakira left.

“She’s just intense,” Adam said. “Do you spend a lot of time with her?”

The guy grinned. “She’s my coach.”

Adam chuckled, reaching up to pat the guy’s arm. “That’s a shame. I figured by now everyone would be used to their coach. But I suppose not everyone is as unintimidating as Bigfoot.”

The guy leaned closer to Adam, his body about a handbreadth away. “How did you—”

“Hey, Colin,” a southern drawl said. Colin jerked and stepped away from the Maroon 5 frontman.

Adam glanced up at the sudden warm mass behind him. He raised his eyebrows innocently. “Hey, Blake.”

Blake put an arm around Adam. Adam smirked at Blake’s badly hidden disdain for Colin. Christina’s contestant shifted nervously. “Sorry, but I need to steal the rock star away.”

“Whatever for, Blake?” Adam asked, glancing back to see Usher frown at the country singer. Usher’s frown melted into a small nod when their eyes locked. Pharrell soon distracted the R&B singer.

Blake paused and stared at Adam for a moment, torn between exasperation and affection. Exasperation was currently winning. “Christina.”

“What does Christina want?” Adam asked, hoping his frown masked his smirk. Blake’s narrowed eyes did nothing to diminish Adam’s amusement.

“She wanted to talk to you,” Blake said.

“Oh my, about what? I’m sure she told you,” Adam said.

Blake’s eyes flickered around the room. “She...wanted to...talk to you about the AMAs.”

“What?” Adam asked, startled out of his faux-innocence.

“Yeah, Christina’s sources say y’all will perform in September,” Blake said. “She just wanted to ensure you are prepared. After all, the official announcements of who’s performing at the AMAs won’t be until July. And since Maroon 5’s tour starts next week and y’all will be across the country by then...”

Adam’s gaze flickered to the sandy-haired man next to him. “Good luck, Colin. Just remember, Christina doesn’t bite. Now lead the way, Big Country.”

Adam allowed Blake to steer him out of the room. Blake’s arm hung heavily on Adam’s shoulder. “Was that necessary?” Blake breathed.

The frontman smirked. “But it’s always so amusing to see you flail. You’re the literal worst liar, especially when you’re trying to be subtle.”

“I’m not that bad,” Blake protested mildly.

“You constantly fumble with words,” Adam countered, quickly falling into pace beside Blake. Blake marched determinedly forward. Adam’s gaze flickered down the hall. They were either leaving the studio or heading to one of the supply closets. Adam couldn’t bring himself to care too much that he didn’t properly say good-bye to any of the coaches or crew from season 2. “It’s adorable.”

Blake hummed. “Adorable. Just what every man wants to hear.”

“So were you fucking with me?” Adam asked.

“You mean you can’t tell from my supposedly horrendous lying capabilities?” Blake drawled. “How interesting.”

“Is Maroon 5 going to the AMAs?” Adam asked.

Blake paused in the exit’s doorway, hand on the door knob. Adam halted next to the taller man, staring up only to get lost in Blake’s deep blue gaze. Blake’s face warmed with a smile. “Course, darlin’.”

Adam beamed.

Blake chortled and brushed a quick kiss against Adam’s cheek. “Trust me, no one is surprised except you.”

“So does Christina really want to talk to me?”

“Hmm? I don’t know. Probably,” Blake shrugged. “I figured we could head to your place.”

“Decided that all by yourself, did you?” Adam smirked, matching Blake’s strides across the parking lot. “Intriguing.”

“I figured you didn’t want to socialize with people you didn’t know,” Blake said.

“I am so very shy,” Adam agreed. “Luckily, I bonded with Colin back there. Maybe I should give him my number in case he has any more concerns about Christina.”

Blake studied Adam from the corner of his eye. Adam’s eyes instantly narrowed on the country singer's smirk. Their steps slowed as they approached Adam’s Mustang. “I suppose I could always go back and hang out with Usher. I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“You literally just left his side after filming an hour-long show together,” Adam said, his dry tone not quite covering his irritation. Damn it.

Blake’s smirk widened. “I know but there are some connections you can’t help but long for 24/7.”

“I am very unamused by everything that’s coming out of your mouth,” Adam said, stepping towards the driver’s door. “I’m contemplating abandoning you here.”

Fingers wormed their way through his belt loop and yanked the frontman back. Blake pressed Adam against a neighboring SUV. Breath caught in Adam's throat. Yes, the parking lot was relatively dark, and NBC's surrounding giant fence kept even ambitious paps away from the studios. But still, they were very much in public. Adam couldn't help the rush of heat that pooled in his groin. “I knew you were jealous.”

“Yeah, well so you were you,” Adam retorted, hands resting on Blake’s arms.

Blake hummed, hands wrapped around Adam’s hips. His blue eyes traced Adam’s body. “I think you forgot who you were dating.”

“We’re keeping our relationship quiet,” Adam reminded. “I was throwing people off the scent. Not that your possessive caveman ways did anything but draw attent—”

Adam stuttered to a gasp as Blake nipped Adam’s neck sharply. The country singer soothed the sting with his tongue, glancing up at the frontman with hooded eyes.

Adam swallowed at the pure desire and possessiveness that shone in Blake’s eyes. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

 

_December 2011_

“I can’t believe we slept for three hours,” Adam said, cracking his neck. “Your couch fucked up my neck.”

Adam turned to his boyfriend, Blake’s gaze unapologetically scanning up and down his body. Adam smirked as he slid on his skinny jeans. “Sorry a little rough sleeping messed with your beauty sleep. I’d hate to see what camping does to you.”

“Probably turn my boyfriend into a masseuse,” Adam said sweetly. He took Blake’s grunt as the country star fumbled for his boxers and pants as an opportunity to completely ogle Blake like a piece of meat. Fuck, he’d missed his boyfriend the second he walked out of his trailer at the beginning of hiatus. Even the guys’ hesitancy surrounding Blake didn’t stop their merciless teasing.

Blake’s back was smooth, small stomach rolls appearing as he bent over. The country singer’s scruff had already given Adam’s thighs beard burn. Marks from Blake’s mouth scattered all around Adam’s chest. Adam rubbed his throbbing neck, pulse quickening as he pressed into the tender flesh. Blake was such a caveman. Adam couldn’t help but smile fondly. Fuck he had it bad. Blake could vomit right now and Adam would probably still coo happily, but with a towel.

Adam laid his body against Blake’s back, pressing his lips at the base of Blake’s neck. “Ready for your present?”

Blake turned around, hand snaking around Adam’s head. His lips moved against Adam’s tenderly. “You can just blow me again if you want.”

Adam smacked Blake lightly. “You disgust me.”

“You might want to get that grin off your face first, sweetheart,” Blake advised, blue eyes twinkling.

“I’m getting your present now,” Adam called, heading towards the table Tina placed his red gift bag.

“Has that been here the whole time?”

“Yep,” Adam said, snagging the bag and plopping back on the couch next to Blake. “You were a tad distracted.”

“I did have a nice piece of ass earlier,” Blake said.

“I had a much sexier piece of ass,” Adam said.

Blake hummed. “You’re probably right.”

“Open your present, dipshit.”

“Adam, you just always know what to say to complete a moment,” Blake said. He tossed out the green tissue paper and paused. Adam grinned. Blake brought out a pink sparkly purse. A pink sparkly monster truck purse. “How did you know?”

“Well, you kept going on and on about how badass your truck was,” Adam said, “and how much shit it could hold.  So I got you a backup truck.”

Blake studied the sequin headlights. “You give the best presents.”

Adam chuckled. “The present is inside.”

“Really?” Blake brightened, unzipping his purse.

“I’m not a complete asshole,” Adam said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Blake hummed, bringing out a flashdrive with a frown.

Adam bit his lip. “I remember you saying how you wanted to know more about Kara’s Flowers. So I got copies of all our old photos, songs, and videos—”

“There are _videos_?” Blake asked gleefully, holding up the flashdrive triumphantly.

“They’re fucking _awful_ but yeah,” Adam said. “My hair is horrendous. And I would tell you to stop looking like a kid on Christmas, but...”

“Y’all look so adorable,” Blake cooed, showing Adam a faded picture of him, Jesse, Mickey, and Ryan posing in front of a club. It was Kara’s Flowers’ first gig. They got at least twenty dollars from it. Blake picked up a nondescript CD case. “Is this your CD?”

“Yep,” Adam said, “in all its glory. Or lack thereof.”

“I know what I’m listening to on the trip to Denver,” Blake said.

Adam sighed. “I can’t even get on you to stop because you’re using my present.”

“I’m glad you gave me a convenient loophole,” Blake said. “Thanks, darlin’.”

“I know that the Kara’s Flowers isn’t that much of a gift,” Adam said. “But it felt like a good idea at the time—”

“Adam,” Blake interrupted, wrapping an arm around Adam’s shoulders and pressing a quick kiss against his temple, “I’m ecstatic that you’re sharing your ‘glorified teenage garage band’ with me. I knew my pestering would eventually wear you down.”

Adam preened, his slight anxiety melting away. Fuck it really was difficult to be anything but elated around Blake. They were officially still in the Honeymoon phase.

“And here’s your present,” Blake said, pulling a hastily wrapped box from under the couch.

Adam grinned at the sloppy gift wrap, cartoon reindeers dancing on the box. “Stellar wrapping skills.”

“You had yours in a _bag_. Gift paper beats bag.”

“I think that you’re confusing rock, paper, scissor rules,” Adam said. “Besides, I know my gift wrapping skill level. Hence the bag cop out.”

“Just open your present, rock star,” Blake said.

Adam ripped off the paper that hung loosely on the box with a single piece of tape. He paused. “Is this real?”

“Yeah,” Blake said softly. “I know that you haven’t been hunting, so this is probably really premature, but I thought it’d be fun if I could teach you and I thought you’d like owning your own gun and become familiar with it and whatnot and—”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you ramble before,” Adam interrupted. Adam’s smile widened as his boyfriend flushed.

“I generally leave that to you,” Blake said weakly.

Adam moved his rifle to the table in front of them, scooting over the couch until he pressed against Blake. “I love it.”

“You’ve never been hunting before,” Blake said. “You might not like it. Damn I knew this was a bad idea.”

“But _you_ like it,” Adam said.

Blake frowned. “But you—”

“When will you realize that it doesn’t matter _what_ we do as long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy?” Adam asked. “I would love for you to teach me how to hunt.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Adam said, darting forward to capture Blake’s lips.

“What happened to joining the crew for dinner?” Blake teased as Adam pushed the country singer against the couch.

“Eh, we can order pizza,” Adam dismissed. “Do you have any idea how often I thought about you over the hiatus?”

“Not nearly as much as me.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Turning this into a competition?”

“It looks that way.”

“That I’ll win,” Adam said.

Blake chuckled. “Cocky rock stars...”

“You like it.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> April 2012 – Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“He just started rambling about the weather,” Adam said from his perch on Blake’s lap, “before we could get a word in edgewise.”

Blake absently rubbed the frontman’s thigh. “It is the go-to topic, especially when you’re nervous.”

“I know, but he went on such a long weather tangent. He should be a meteorologist,” Adam mused.

“I don’t think being in front of a camera suits him,” Blake said.

“I’m surprised he made it through the song,” Gwen said, leaning back in her chair as the makeup crew swarmed around her and Pharrell. Tyler, one of the makeup artists, simply touched up Blake and Adam simultaneously after Adam gave no indication of leaving. “He looked ready to hurl after we all turned around.”

“To be fair, that was probably because none of us pressed our buttons,” Adam said. “I think he’s a better singer, but he let the cameras and nerves psych him out too much.”

“Which is a shame,” Pharrell said. “Do you think he’ll come back next season?”

Adam shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“At least I learned a lot about cumulus clouds,” Blake said.

“Always handy to know,” Gwen said.

“Mhmm,” Blake said. “I’m saving my new weather facts for party ice breakers.”

“Are there any weather pickup lines?” Adam frowned. “I feel like weather should be the fall back topic for all situations.”

Blake’s fingers did not pause in their nonsensical pattern. “You blow me away.”

“Such a cliché, Shelton,” Adam reprimanded.

This time Blake’s fingers did stop as the country singer shifted to stare up at Adam. “You once asked me if I was scared of heights—”

“Making simple conversation,” Adam interrupted.

“Because I fell from heaven,” Blake finished.

“I was concerned about your mental wellbeing,” Adam said. “I have absolutely no regrets about that.”

A smile twitched on Blake’s face. “You’re lucky you’re cute enough to get away with that.”

“Is it sunny in here or is that just your smile brightening the room?” Adam asked.

Blake frowned. “Weather pickup line?”

“No, Blake, I’m genuinely wondering if the sun is shining inside the NBC studios,” Adam said dryly.

Blake nodded sagely. “I thought so.”

“Dipshit,” Adam said, leaning against Blake.

“Sunsets are nothing compared to your gorgeous exterior,” Blake said.

“Not weather, but acceptable.”

“Lightening isn’t the only thing that changes your life,” Blake said.

Adam snorted.  “I will mist you more than life itself.”

“I sweep you off your feet faster than a cyclone.”

“Are you always this wet or—”

“Adam!” Gwen reprimanded.

“Or is it just the tears welling in my eyes at your beauty and grace?” Adam finished. “Geez, Gwen, where did you think that was going? Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Some people,” Blake huffed.

“Absolutely disgusting,” Adam agreed.

 

_December 2011_

“Can’t you guys keep the PDA at a minimum?” Adam asked. “I did not travel all the way back to LA to watch you suck my brother’s lips.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow, leaving Michael’s mouth with a loud smack. The couple cuddled on a loveseat in the middle of the Levine family holiday disgustingly intertwined with each other. The rest of the relatives had long grown used to Jesse and Michael. Adam even heard one of his aunts describe the couple as “precious” a few years ago. It made Adam want to hurl.

“You think you’d be used to it,” Jesse said.

“You’re scarring little children,” Adam reprimanded. He caught his running half-sibling, Liza. Her scream dissolved into giggles as Adam gripped her ankles and swayed her upside down. “Isn’t he?”

Liza giggled and nodded.

“You’re cheating,” Michael protested. “Liza, don’t abandon me like this.”

“This is why I’m her favorite,” Adam said, swinging Liza. Liza laughed, her curly hair brushing against the floor.

“Adam Noah Levine, put down your sister,” Patsy ordered, striding into the living room.

Adam smiled sheepishly at his mother. He slowly lowered Liza to the floor. His sister threw a mischievous look his way before running outside, joining the rest of the kids for an intense game of either capture the flag or touch football. No one had been bloodied yet so the adults weren't too concerned.

“Just because you’re a famous rock star now...” Patsy began.

Adam flushed. “Mom, I’m not famous. I was just on a reality show.”

“If you were just a reality show star then you’d only be well-known for your bromance with Blake,” Julia, his sister, called from the other side of the room. Her husband, Hugo, shifted his attention to Aunt Nelly. "You have a bit more claim to fame than that."

“My _famous_ touring musician son with a _lovely_ single,” Patsy continued. Heat rushed to Adam’s face as he attempted to scoff dismissively, “does not mean I’ll allow you to roughhouse with your sister.”

“She likes it,” Adam protested.

“You make her extra rough with Sam,” Patsy countered. “You’re never too old for me to smack.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Adam whined.

Patsy patted Adam’s cheek. “At least she’ll never be as bad as you.”

“What about Julia?” Adam asked.

“I’m a saint,” Julia objected, striding across the living room because she felt irritatingly obligated to infiltrate all conversations around her. “And two years older than you and therefore dominant so shut up.”

Adam turned to their mom. “See how mean she is?”

“It's good for you,” Patsy said. “And you turned out alright.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Adam said dryly.

“So glad you could squeeze your family into your busy touring life,” Julia said. Michael and Jesse remained curled up on the loveseat, staring at them in amusement.

“I was going to skip, but Jesse wanted to see Michael, which is tedious,” Adam teased. He turned quickly to Patsy. “And I wanted to see you. Of course.”

Patsy sighed. “You’re lucky I love you. Even when your brain-to-mouth filter fails.”

Adam gave her a wide grin.

“I suppose you can make it up to me by running to the store tomorrow and grabbing your beloved mother some ingredients she forgot.”

“By myself? But people are so cutthroat around the holidays,” Adam protested.

“Especially at the grocery store,” Jesse agreed. Adam narrowed his eyes on his friend’s smirk. “Better you than Patsy. She is a national treasure.”

Patsy beamed. “How sweet of you, Jesse. I’m going to grab you some fresh cookies.”

“Why are you always the favorite?” Adam asked, watching his mom’s messy bun bob through the throng of relatives on her way to the kitchen.

“It’s because my boyfriend beats yours,” Michael said. “Or lack thereof.”

Adam sipped some eggnog, hoping to disguise any potential reactions. However, the sudden eager glances from his siblings and Jesse’s sheepish expression as he lowered his cup made Adam’s heart thud. “What?”

“You’re dating someone?” Julia screeched. “ _Who_?”

Adam glared at Jesse. His best friend shrugged. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are...and I may have also agreed that I beat your boyfriend.”

“Who is it?” Julia interrogated, turning to Jesse. Jesse shrugged. She huffed.

Michael lazily traced Jesse’s shoulder. “Calm down, Julia.”

“You’re just saying that because you know Jesse will tell you later,” Julia dismissed.

“Jesse will most certainly not tell Michael later,” Adam objected.

“I’m siding with Adam on this one,” Jesse said. “I will keep silent. At least name-wise.”

Her eyes widened, flickering between the two bandmates. “Do you have relationship drama already? Adam, tell your older sister. I have years of experience with guys.”

“I kissed a guy before you,” Adam reminded. “Your study partner if I remember correctly.”

“You _knew_ I liked him,” Julia hissed. Adam smirked. Some snubs never healed. Not even fifteen years later.

Adam shrugged. “Welp, he was gay. You’re welcome for taking one for the team there.”

“You’re such a dick,” Julia said. “This is why I like Michael better.”

“Michael never _talks_.”

“I don’t talk as much as you two,” Michael corrected. “You guys make anyone look introverted.”

“So what’s your drama?” Julia repeated. “You owe me. Do you have any idea how often I bugged my friends and coworkers to vote for you?”

“Funny how you say that like you weren’t his loudest supporter,” Michael said.

Julia scoffed. “I use Adam for attention.”

“You say that like it’s something new,” Adam said.

“Tell me about your boyfriend, brat,” Julia ordered.

“It’s crazy, the more you demand it, the more inclined I am to keep quiet,” Adam said. “Funny how that works.”

“You’re such a prick,” Julia said.

“I learned from the best,” Adam said sweetly.

Julia’s eyes narrowed.

“So are you not publically coming out?”

Adam fidgeted under his brother’s probing gaze. Fuck he was really hoping that he could avoid this question.

Michael’s face fell. “Really?”

“I don’t want everyone to know my business,” Adam defended. "Why should it matter who I date?"

“It’s more than that,” Michael said, leaning forward on the loveseat. “You could be a role model. Do you have any idea what that would mean to someone?”

“I would be the worst role model,” Adam objected.

“Not to a scared kid hiding in the bathroom or someone terrified that they will never succeed in life due to other people’s prejudice,” Michael argued. His tone never grew heated, only more disappointed and sincere. He would make the best parent. Julia quieted, staring at her brothers. Jesse just watched Adam.

“Look, I’m coming out eventually,” Adam said, “for the right person.”

“You should come out for yourself,” Michael countered.

Adam winced. Jesse rested a hand on Michael’s arm. Michael’s steady gaze never wavered from Adam.

“ _You_ want me to come out for you,” Adam said. “ _I_ want to come out when I deem my relationship status relevant to the public. Before that, I’m answering _no_ relationship questions. That’s what _I_ want.”

“But just think what will happen—”

“Michael, I don’t want to share my personal life with the world,” Adam snapped. “I don’t want to be judged for who I like.”

“If that’s still a relevant concern, don’t you think that people like you are actually needed?” Michael asked.

Adam's gaze narrowed. "One person coming out issn't some magical button that solves all homophobia."

"Every person coming out helps acceptance grow," Michael said. 

“How would I help?” Adam retorted. “I’m barely known. What help could I possibly offer? And, Jesus Christ, why would I ever be a good choice to aid any LGBTQ movement?”

“Adam, you need to give yourself some credit,” Michael said. “And realize that some issues are bigger than you. I know you never had many issues in school because of your sexuality, but some of us weren’t so lucky.”

Adam closed his eyes. Michael’s bruised throat still haunted him to this day. He swallowed. “I know...”

“You’re always so proud of who you are,” Michael said. “I don’t understand—”

“It’s different being out and proud around your family and friends,” Adam interrupted. “Just a reminder, I never announced I was gay to random strangers. Everything is staying the same except a few more strangers are suddenly aware of my existence.”

“But with the platform that’s given to you—”

“I’m not publically coming out anytime soon, Michael,” Adam said. “And you know who that’ll affect? No one but me.”

Michael opened his mouth just to snap it closed. He finally glanced at Jesse's hand on his arm. Michael slumped back into the loveseat. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And I am happy,” Adam said. “With my boyfriend, who will remain nameless.”

Michael nodded, not meeting Adam’s eyes. Jesse grimaced at Adam, gently rubbing a hand over Michael. Adam was suddenly insanely grateful for his friend. Jesse and Michael were always more of activist-driven than Adam, but Jesse at least understood, after a late night conversation, his reasoning.

“So...where did you meet him?” Julia asked, gaze flickering between her two suddenly quiet brothers, which was the natural state for one but unnerving on the other.

“Around,” Adam said.

“You’re so deliberately vague,” Julia said. “It makes me want to strangle you.”

“He’s not out,” Adam said. Julia and Michael traded a look. “To the public! Like me. He's out to his family and shit.”

Julia’s mouth fell open. Michael’s eyes shot up. “Wait, is he famous too?”

“Ugh, I’m leaving,” Adam groaned. He sat his eggnog down on the coffee table. He _may_ be running away. His siblings' curiousity was too intense and Michael’s words were still too fresh. They made Adam feel guilty and the singer was determined not to focus too much on why. Adam’s privacy mattered too, God damn it. He wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. Him keeping his sexuality quiet is not that big of a deal.

“Hey Mom,” Julia shouted as soon as Patsy reentered the living room. The rest of the Levine family members glanced her way. “Did you know Adam has a boyfriend?”

Adam flushed, glaring at his smug sister. “I’m going outside.”

He brought his phone out as he pushed the backdoor open, ignoring his mom’s excited noise. As the only unattached child, Adam now bore the brunt of his mom’s eager curiosity and worry. Julia popping out a couple of grandchildren only made his mom more focused on Adam’s single-ness. Which was fucking annoying. Well-intentioned, but annoying.

_Do you ever want to just kill your siblings?_

_January 2012_

The tour bus bounced over a particularly jarring pothole. Mickey cursed as his carefully written music notes now featured a jagged pencil line.

“So try pulling in the chorus from...” James trailed off, shuffling through the sheet paper in front of him with a frown.

“Adam’s angst number 7?” Mickey asked. Adam rolled his eyes, not allowing his eyes to shift from the Call of Duty playing of the openers’ tour bus. Bucky shot Adam’s character in the head while he stole Cheetos from the bowl wedged between him and Adam. The frontman swore.

“With the chord progression from Jesse’s late night piano bit...” James said.

“Is this how y’all usually write songs?” Rick asked, perched carefully on a cushy chair. He munched on cereal as he alternated from watching Bucky annihilate Adam at COD and Maroon 5 attempt to piece together another song.

“Eh, kinda,” Adam said. “All of our songs just seem to be Frankensteins of random parts we wrote— _Fuck_! Where did you come from?”

Bucky chuckled, not answering Adam. The frontman scowled as he respawned.

“What about you guys?” Mickey asked.

“We don’t write much of our own music,” Rick said. “We only wrote part of our newest single.”

“She’s All That?” James asked. “I really like the lyrics.”

“Yeah, the rhythm is—fuck you and your shitstain family, I swear to fucking...” Adam grumbled.

“Maybe you should lay off the COD,” Mickey advised. “You both have been playing for over an hour.”

“Yes, _Mom,_ ” Adam said.

“Bucky has a lot of spare time,” Rick said. “He essentially plays COD and music.”

“I mean, everyone has their—oh my fucking God, stop sneaking behind me!” Adam screeched.

Bucky chuckled. “But killing you from behind has the best reaction.”

Adam’s glare didn’t lighten as their round ended with Bucky, cue the dramatic gasp, declared the winner. “I’m taking a break.”

“I’ll teach you how to not suck eventually,” Bucky said, biting a Cheeto smugly.

“I don’t suck, you’re just irrationally skilled,” Adam griped. He ambled over to the table Mickey and James had strewn with papers. “I’m going where I’ll feel useful.”

“Maybe you should write another angry song,” Bucky taunted.

Adam scowled. “I’ll write an angry song on your face.”

“Great comeback,” James said.

Adam mumbled something incoherent as he slid into a chair beside Mickey.

“I’m sure even Blake would be impressed by your wit,” a yawning Jesse said, emerging from the bunk room.

“Your first words when you wake up can’t demean me,” Adam protested. “That’s not fair.”

Jesse shrugged, collapsing on the couch and picking up a discarded COD controller. Bucky eagerly snatched the other. “Someone has to keep you from getting a big head.”

“I’m just surprised Blake’s encouragements didn’t explode Adam’s head sooner,” Rick said. Adam felt Rick’s gaze focus on him. “So what did happen between you and Blake? Things were real tense for a while.”

Adam glanced up at half of the country duo. James and Mickey paused next to Adam. Even Jesse and Bucky glanced over. He forced a nonchalant shrug. “We just had a disagreement.”

“Lover’s spat?” Rick teased.

“Something like that,” Adam agreed with a wry smile.

“You and Blake are cool now though, right?” Rick said. “Because you two fighting is surprisingly hellish.”

“Trust me,” Adam said. “Things have taken a turn for the better.”

 

_June 2011_

“Prepare for heaven in your mouth,” Adam announced. Matt grinned, standing up from his drum seat, “in burger form.”

Aly cocked an eyebrow, sliding her guitar behind her back. The rest of The Voice musicians nodded at Adam but continued practicing random tunes or chattering amongst themselves. The musicians went on break when Team Cee Lo paused ten minutes ago. Team Cee Lo currently stood around The Voice’s mainstage, practicing their group performance with whichever famous musician Cee Lo managed to snag. “You realize you don’t have to be here this week.”

“Not for filming purposes,” Adam said. “You don’t seriously think that I’m going to twiddle my thumbs until my next Lives performance? Yeah, no.”

“Why are you here?” Aly asked.

“To gift Matt with the beauty that is In-and-Out Burger,” Adam said.

“Fuck yeah,” Matt said, catching the paper bag Adam tossed at him.

“He’s never had any before,” Adam continued.

Aly’s unimpressed expression didn’t waver.

Adam dangled another bag. “I brought you some too.”

Aly hummed before snatching it. “Thank you, Adam.”

“No one can say no to In-and-Out,” Adam said.

“No one can say no to free food,” Matt corrected.

“Here again, Levine?” Lucas yelled, striding over.

“Yep,” Adam said.

Lucas studied The Voice contestant. “Hook up your phone. Your music is entertaining us today. If you’re going to continue to bombard our practices and pester musicians, you’re now involved with our routine.”

Aly nudged Adam, who frowned after Lucas. “This means he likes you.”

“I heard that!”

“Shut up, Lu-bear,” Matt shouted.

“Lucas will murder you eventually and I will help him hide the body,” Aly said evenly.

Matt stared at Aly for a second before turning to Adam. “Toss me your phone, man.”

Adam obliged, turning to frown at Aly. “So...”

“Every time we have a lunch break, someone plays music from their phone,” Aly said. “That’s how we found out that Matt has an intense love of Broadway.”

Matt held up his middle finger as he hooked up Adam’s phone to a small speaker set. Thankfully, Prince started playing.

“So far, so good,” Aly said.

Adam chuckled. “Fuck off. I have great taste in music. Just the fact I can’t recall every song on my phone makes me suddenly paranoid...”

“What might you have on there?” Aly asked.

“I’m just hoping for opera or Scandinavian yodeling,” Matt said, grabbing his burger.

“Or a sex tape,” Aly said.

Adam choked on his soda. “ _God_. Yeah, I can definitely say that’s a negative.”

“Damn,” Matt said. “That’d make people forget my Broadway...which is still a classic, _by the way_.”

“Shut up, Flynn,” a bassist called.

“Stop defying gravity,” Theo, the backup drummer, added.

Matt swished his floppy bangs to the side. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Theo shrugged. “Sorry I don’t know as many Broadway songs off the top of my head, unlike some.”

Adam snorted at Matt’s affronted expression. A hint of a smile crossed Aly’s face. She bit down into her burger. “This burger is pleasant.”

“It’s the best,” Adam grinned.

“Huh, yeah it’s alright,” Matt said through bits of hamburger. Adam and Aly stared at Matt with disdain, for different reasons.

“Just alright?” Adam asked slowly.

“Why is chewing with your mouth closed such an impossible task for you?” Aly asked.

Matt aimed his middle finger at the guitarist. “Yep, just alright.”

“After I drove all the way to In-and-Out Burger and bought you a meal,” said Adam, “because you’re my _friend_ and I wanted to give you a speck of happiness by trying something new because I _care_ about you as a human being—”

“Jesus Christ,” Matt interrupted. “Stop. This is the best burger I’ve ever tasted. Happy now?”

Aly snickered.

“And...?” Adam prompted.

Matt rolled his eyes. “I will never question your taste of anything ever.”

“That does reach my minimum requirement of friendship,” Adam nodded.

_“If I was just another dusty record on the shelf_

_Would you blow me off and play me like everybody else—”_

Adam jumped up, swearing. He pressed the skip on his phone. Fuck he forgot that the Gym Class Heroes recording was still on his phone.He turned to the frowning musicians. At least he averted the potential 'accidentally leaking a song' crisis. Not that The Voice musicians would steal the Gym Class Hero track. But his abrupt action more than put the spotlight on him and his music. Adam swallowed. How to recover casually?

“Sorry, just—”

A crash on the other side of the room made the slightly confused musicians and Adam jump around. Adam's throat constricted. A furious figure marched directly over to him with Team Cee Lo lurching in the background. Cee Lo hustled quickly away from the food cart.

His breath vanished as Travie McCoy—as in the _Gym Class Heroes_ vocalist—halted inches from Adam. Travie glared.

Holy shit.

“Where’d you get that song?” Travie McCoy growled, gripping Adam’s shirt. The songwriter shrank back.

Adam's mouth dried, his mind going uselessly blank. He’d never been in this situation before. Or anything close to this situation before. He was used to professional musicians throwing fits, but never with him as the focal point. All he could do was stare at Travie’s increasingly furious glare.

“Did I stutter?” Travie hissed.

Words tumbled out. “I’m an Almatrax songwriter. Almatrax’s top priority last week was writing new lyrics for this song. I didn’t steal your song, I swear. I work with Almatrax.”

“Almatrax.” Travie released Adam’s shirt. He eyed Adam suspiciously. “Really. Prove it.”

“I, uh, don’t have my ID on me,” Adam said, hazel eyes flickering between Travie’s heated glare and general intrigue from the musicians and Voice contestants around them.

“Just my new song,” Travie said lowly. “My new song only two people should have access to. Yet you have it sitting on your phone.”

Cee Lo appeared behind Travie like a magical motherfucker that Adam would literally blow right now if he helped Adam not get shanked. “He works at Almatrax, man.”

Travie’s glower went a shade less hostile. “And my song is on your phone, loudly broadcasted for the world to hear...why?”

“I forgot it was on it,” Adam said.

Travie sneered.

Fuck. Right. Not a reason. Shit, and now the glare returned. “I was helping—”

“Besides, this situation was taken care of,” Travie interrupted. “Lyrics were submitted last week. But even if they weren't, as an Almatrax employee, you shouldn’t even still have access to this song.”

“Yeah, I, uh, got this a while ago when Suzie hit a wall,” Adam stammered. God, he felt like his heart would explode. He was completely failing at soothing the justly pissed musician. “I was going to assist her since this was more my area of expertise, but she got through her writer’s block and appeased your manager and—”

“If you knew that the song didn’t need lyrics then why is it on your phone?” Travie asked. It was probably wishful thinking, but he looked less inclined towards murder.

“Because it’s fucking sick sounding,” Adam blurted. Wow unhelpful, brain. “I’ve had it stuck in my head for days.”

There was a moment of nothing. Then a faint smirk crossed Travie’s face. Thank Christ. “I appreciate that, but delete your copy. I never had a problem with Almatrax leaking songs before.”

“It really is secure,” Adam said, tapping away at his phone. He flashed the screen at Travie. “I only got it because I was consulting and...yeah. Sorry, I should have deleted this ages ago.”

Travie nodded as the file was deleted. “ ‘Help Suzie’?”

“Rolled off the tongue better than Unnamed Gym Class Hero Track 4,” Adam shrugged. “I swear, Almatrax doesn’t just hand out copies of an artist’s songs. I only received this because of extenuating circumstances.”

“They better not,” Travie said.

“Glad the air is cleared, gentlemen,” Cee Lo said. Adam glanced around him. Cee Lo was giving Travie a pointed stare, but most of the contestants’ eyes were glued on Adam and Travie. Julia Simms looked faintly stunned. Matt and even Aly looked bewildered by the entire proceedings.

“Sorry I nearly assaulted you,” Travie said after a pause.

Adam shrugged. “Nah, I get it. You thought I stole your shit.”

“Basically,” Travie said, eyeing Adam. “So you’re a songwriter.”

“Mhmm.”

“Did you write verses for ‘Help Suzie’?” Travie asked.

Adam stiffened. He knew Suzie just wanted his consultation but even when she finished the lyrics a couple days after James gave him the copy, Adam couldn’t stop the lyrics that formed almost effortlessly in his head when the track played.  “Um...yeah. But it’s not relevant now. Since you and your manager approved Suzie’s lyrics.”

Travie shrugged. “I want to hear yours, man. Since you're a songwriter, apparently.”

Adam’s heart may have stopped. Possibly. “Now?”

“No time like the present,” Travie said. Damn, the contrast of the mellow guy in a beanie and the seething musician an inch from murder was astonishing.

“I mean, there’s not that many verses,” Adam said quickly. Did he sound like he was backtracking? Because he fucking was. Holy shit he _never_ sang the lyrics he wrote in front of the musician. Especially lyrics none of his coworkers or friends had heard. “It’s basically the same thing except for the verse before the ending chorus and—”

“Just sing, man,” Travie interrupted. “I’m curious.”

Adam’s eyes flickered to Cee Lo, who watched impassively. He felt the intense scrutiny from Cee Lo’s team and The Voice musicians. Travie stared at him with a faintly challenging expression.

Lovely.

Adam took a deep breath. Thank God he and Blake practiced earlier so he wouldn’t sound like complete shit. He opened his mouth to sing in the still arena.

_“My heart's a stereo_

_It beats for you, so listen close_

_Hear my thoughts in every note_

_Oh oh,_

_Make me your radio_

_Turn me up when you feel low_

_This melody was meant for you_

_Just sing along to my stereo...”_

Julia grinned as Adam trailed off, giving him a thumbs up. Her miniscule reassurance relieved a small chunk of Adam’s anxiety. He refocused on Travie. Travie’s challenging glint vanished.

“What was the other part you wrote?” Travie asked.

Adam bit his lip. Travie’s tone told him nothing. Shit, why wasn’t anyone _saying_ anything? Instead, everyone watched with bated breath as the drama ran its course. “It would come at the bridge.”

Travie nodded, gesturing for Adam to continue. Travie closed his eyes, which was a good sign...probably. Hopefully.

Adam also shut his eyes, remembering the song, the thrill the music gave him. And ignoring the lack of music, the artists standing  a few feet from him, and—

Right. Not helpful.

_“I only pray you'll never leave me behind_

_Because good music can be so hard to find_

_I take your hand and hold it closer to mine_

_Thought love was dead, but now you're changing my mind_

_My heart’s a stereo—”_

Travie held up his hand, pursing his lips. Adam cut himself off mid-note. He cleared his throat. “So...”

Travie grinned, eyes blinking open. “I like it.”

“Thank God,” Adam said, a flood of relief gushing through him.  “You have no idea how nerve-wracking performing that for you was.”

“I think I have an idea,” Travie said. "You're not exactly subtle."

“So does this mean you won’t kill me?” Adam asked, half-joking.

“I can hear your lyrics with the song. It feels more natural,” Travie said. 

Adam blinked. "What?"

“Turn in your lyrics to Almatrax or whatever you do.”

“Uh...are you sure? I mean, I thought Suzie’s lyrics were official—”

Travie raised an eyebrow.

“Not that you can’t change your mind,” Adam said, backtracking like a pro. “It’s your song, after all. So...yeah. Definitely your call. Completely your call.”

“I like your lyrics better,” Travie said, thankfully ignoring his rambles. “Even more than the original ones. So make it happen.”

Adam saluted with two fingers. That promised to be a fun trip. Especially the part where Adam was in possession of high-risk property that wasn’t supposed to leave Almatrax grounds. Ah well, maybe he can just casually drop it off to Suzie. It wouldn't be the first time the writing credit skipped over him.

“Then you can sing it and the album will be finished,” Travie continued.

“Wait what?” Adam’s mind went blank before panic overrode everything.  He glanced at Cee Lo who stared back unhelpfully. His team murmured behind him. Travie continued studying Adam.

“You’re singing,” Travie said decisively. “Beats finding someone else. Your sound mixes well with our song.”

“Are you sure? I mean—I’m just...” Adam sputtered. Fucking hell. A decade of songwriting and no artist ever wanted Adam’s voice. But now... he was torn between laughing hysterically and passing out. Fuck, he felt lightheaded. This had been his dream for _ages_. And here Travie was nonchalantly offering a solid—fucking amazing—foothold to it. This was something concrete. Adam loved The Voice, but even the show, despite Blake’s many reassurances, didn’t guarantee anything except to the winner.

“That’s against the contracts we signed,” one of Cee Lo’s team—Pip maybe? Fuck if Adam remembered. His mind was whirling too much to recall a name—said.

“It is a breach of contract,” Cee Lo agreed. Adam’s stomach dropped. Fuck. Right. The contract for NBC. Travie won’t wait for a nobody musician. His excitement quickly vanished. “But the contract isn’t permanent. We’ll talk with some of the producers, but Adam should be free after The Voice.”

“Great,” Travie said, reaching over to pat Adam. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Adam nodded dumbly as Travie meandered away, acting like he didn’t just completely change Adam’s life. Cee Lo nodded at Adam before ushering his team back towards the stage. This was surreal. Holy shit, was Travie’s ‘we’ll keep in touch’ a polite ‘adios forever, bitch. I can't wait’ or would the Gym Class Heroes singer actually wait about a month for an unknown?

God why would he? There were plenty of actually qualified, _established_ singers who wanted this collaboration.

But what if Travie did wait...

Shit. How would Adam keep in touch?

He glanced at the gawking musicians. “What the fuck just happened?”

 

_December 2011_

“Hmmm...A little more to the left,” Endy instructed. Endy’s husband, Brody, wisely volunteered to set up the outside lights with Blake and Endy's dad, Richard, when the ornaments were brought out. Blake, as always, was coerced into decorating the tree. And by decorating the tree, he meant stringing the lights and ribbon down the pine, hanging ornaments near the top, and adjusting the tree topper. He was a multi-award winning country artist. Yet every holiday reduced him to a conveniently tall helper.

“Like this?” Blake asked after a little finagling.

“No, it’s still crooked,” Endy said. “Go just a _tad_ to the right.”

Blake shifted the beaming, worn Santa. “Now?”

Endy hummed. “I’m not sure...”                   

Blake huffed. “How can you not be sure?”

“I want it to look nice, Blake,” Endy said.

“Well you’re being overly pick—” Blake retorted, turning his attention away from the tree. He cut himself off as Endy cradled his glowing phone in her hand. Blake abandoned the worn Santa on top of the tree, hurriedly stepping over and plucking his phone away from his sister. “Not your property.”

“It vibrated again,” Endy said. “I thought I could act as your secretary.”

Blake slid his phone into his pocket. “I’m sure you did.”

“You never text this much,” Endy said. “Who is it?”

“I hate to be the one to inform you of this,” Blake began, “but I’m famous and I actually have quite a few people who want to contact me.”

“On your personal phone?” Endy challenged.

Blake froze.

“Didn’t think I knew the difference, did you?” Endy asked. “So who is it?”

“Just some of my Voice contestants,” Blake said. “Who I do keep track of and care about.”

Endy raised an eyebrow. “They have business questions over the holiday?”

“ _No_ ,” Blake said. “They’re just...wishing me a happy holiday. Because they care.”

“Care enough to text you nonstop since you walked through these doors?” Endy asked.

Blake huffed. “It hasn’t been the same person.”

“If it were, that’d be roughly...” Endy paused, “one thousand texts.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “It has not been that many.”

“Oh, there’s been a _ton_ ,” his sister countered. “Plus you smile and laugh when you read them.”

“People make me happy,” Blake shrugged. “It’s natural.”

“More like a specific person makes you happy,” Endy challenged.

“Specific people, like my past contestants,” Blake corrected. Jermaine, Raelynn, Chelsea, and Patrick wished Blake happy holidays a couple days ago. Those four texts counted. Plus Usher, Luke, Miranda, and Carson texted him a few times since he arrived home.

“Mhmm.”

“They _are_ ,” Blake argued.

“And just how many of your contestants and friends are texting you this singular holiday greeting?” Endy asked.

“Plenty.”

“M _hmm_.”

“People do want to suck up to me,” Blake said.

Endy just stared at him. “Not that many.”

“Hey,” Blake protested.

“Now children, why is my tree topper crooked and neglected?” Dorothy asked, flannel night gown flaring around her.

“Blake didn’t listen to me,” Endy said.

“She tried to steal my phone,” Blake immediately countered.

“Only because he’s been glued to it all week,” Endy protested. “He claims it’s his Voice contestants.”

“Because it is,” Blake said. “I realize as an attorney, you’re not used to dealing with the truth.”

“Don’t deflect from your texting buddy,” Endy said.

Dorothy gave Blake a knowing look. “Endy, be nice to your brother. I’m sure he’s just being a caring coach.”

Endy blinked, immediately turning to the short woman. “Mom, what do you know?”

“That you should be nicer to me,” Blake said, inching towards the doorway. “I’m going to help Brody and Dad set up those lights before its pitch black.”

Endy huffed at Blake’s retreat. Blake threw on his winter jacket as he hurried out the door to avoid any of his sister’s comments. He would need to keep his phone on him at all times. He shut the door as Endy began interrogating Mom. His mom’s knowing stares were almost worse than Endy’s grilling.

“Blake!” Brody greeted from the roof, peering down at the sound of the slamming door. “Here to help?”

“Nah, just thought I’d supervise,” Blake drawled, zipping up his jacket.

“Get your ass up here!” Richard yelled.

He fished out his phone as he hiked towards the ladder, watching a few snow flurries melt on his screen. Blake smiled at Adam’s name, his chest warming despite the chilling wind.

_Do you ever want to just kill your siblings?_

Blake’s thumbs flew over the touchscreen. _All the time._ The country singer bit his lip before tapping out another text. _I miss you._

The response was instantaneous.

_I miss you too, dipshit._

Luckily, Brody was too busy tossing Blake a strand of lights to notice his dopey smile.

 

_January 2012_

“You like that one?” Adam asked the cheering crowd. This crowd was larger than the previous ones Adam opened for. He pretended it was because people were eager to arrive early and hear Maroon 5 and not because the tour was officially back to the bigger cities aka away from the middle of the bumfuck country land Blake inhabited. “Cover of Gwen Stefani’s This Love and also, fun fact, originally on Maroon 5’s demo CD many moons ago.”

Adam let the hoots and claps of the crowd wash over him. He glanced towards James, who nodded encouragingly. Adam took a deep breath. “So we’ve been working on some songs for our album. And we’ve mostly banged out a new one. How would you like to be our guinea pigs? Love it, hate it, don’t be shy in telling us.”

The cheers of the crowd swelled. Adam grinned, Blake’s presence from the side of the stage somehow becoming more noticeable. “You heard them, guys.”

James and Mickey strummed their guitar and bass, respectively. Adam steeled himself as he faced the crowd.  Playing this completely unknown song was a more daunting prospect than all of Adam’s previous performances, including The Voice finale. The crowd hushed slightly. Which really didn't sooth his nerves.

“ _I really, I really_

_Oh, I really need to know_

_I really, I really_

_Oh, or else you gotta let me go_

_I really, I really..._ ”

Adam nodded flippantly at the obviously intrigued Blake who gawked from the side of the stage. He grabbed the microphone stand.

“ _This time I really need to do things right_

_Shivers that ya give me keep me freezing all night_

_You make me shudder, oh yeah_

_I can’t believe it, I’m not myself_

_Suddenly I’m thinkin’ about no one else_

_You make me shudder...”_

Adam bounced around the stage like a toddler on sugar high the rest of the song; he would be the first to admit it. But fuck, it was so freeing to sing a song he wrote. And know that no other artist’s name would be plastered beside it.

The hollering crowd made a grin threaten to break Adam’s face as the final note of Stutter faded. “You guys have been unbelievable. Hope you’re ready for the fantastic Bucky and Rick. Then some other singer called Blake Shelton is performing. I hear he smells like feet and looks like a yeti. So good luck.”

He waved cheekily at the screaming crowd, completely prepared to smugly lock eyes with Blake. But said country star vanished from the side of the stage. Adam pretended he wasn’t slightly disappointed.

“They liked the song,” Mickey cheered, throwing his arms around Adam and James as Maroon 5 exited the stage.

Adam grinned at the bassist. “Fuck yeah they did.”

“Some were even trying to sing along near the end,” James said. “That was surreal.”

“Performing an original—”

“All our songs are original,” James protested.

“You know what I mean,” Adam said. “A song I wrote that no one else made famous—”

“Or destroyed,” Mickey said.

“Oh the butchery over the years was brutal,” James said. “I still can’t believe they made Makes Me Wonder techno.”

Adam ignored them both. “Is the best feeling. I’m excited for everyone to hear our album.”

“It’s coming soon, man,” Mickey said.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Adam said. “Now, not that I’m not dying to chill backstage with you guys but—”

“You want to spend time with Blake,” James said. Adam smiled sheepishly at James’ dry tone. Despite Adam’s reassurances and his boyfriend’s repeated attempts to win them over, his bandmates, especially James, treated Blake warily on a good day. Adam believed it was only his obvious giddiness that made them more accepting of Blake. Jesse and Matt were the most outwardly supportive.

“Yep,” Adam said, popping the p obnoxiously.

“Don’t get cooties,” Mickey warned after a moment. “Come, James. Let’s go where we’ll be appreciated.”

Adam frowned. “But your moms aren’t anywhere near here.”

“Why did we miss teasing Adam?” Mickey asked.

“I have no idea,” James said.

Adam flashed them an innocent grin before casually making his way towards Blake’s dressing room. He wondered how nonchalant he should be about entering said country singer's room. The crew, even with their surprisingly large amount of genuine happiness, was still nosy as fuck and wanted to know the source of their feud. The fact that it’s been a few weeks since Blake and Adam publically made nice did nothing to lull their curiosity.

Adam was still mulling his options when flannel-clad arms hauled the Maroon 5 singer inside a supply closet. Adam hummed as familiar hands pressed him against the wall. The door swung shut with a swift kick from a cowboy boot.

“You’re lucky that I’m used to your caveman antics or else the crew would think there’s a murder,” Adam said breathlessly.

Blake loomed over Adam hungrily, his blue eyes dark as they ranked up and down his body. “I make you stutter, do I?”

“Hmm? Oh you thought that song was for you?” Adam said, with a surprising amount of nonchalance considering that Blake had the smaller man pinned to a corner. “How embarrassing.”

Blake smirked. Adam forced his eyes away from Blake’s mouth. “Not about me?” Blake asked, mouth hovering over Adam’s neck. He closed his eyes as Blake’s hot breath spread goosebumps.

“That’s right,” Adam said.

He did not squeak when Blake hauled him up by the ass, pressing into the Maroon 5 singer. Adam wrapped his legs around Blake, heat pooling into his groin. Blake sucked Adam’s neck, his mouth slowly moving back to Adam’s lips.

“Then who was the song about?” Blake asked between kisses. Adam groaned as Blake began grinding against him. He wove his fingers through Blake’s hair as he jerked his hips down. Denim rubbed against denim. They really needed to remove those pesky layers.

“Kenny Chesney.” Adam cracked open an eye at the sudden loss of Blake’s mouth. Adam smirked. “Are you jealous?”

“You wrote a song with Kenny Chesney,” Blake said stiffly.

“Oh my God, you _are_ jealous,” Adam said gleefully.

“Cocky rock stars,” Blake muttered.

“Jealous country singers,” Adam shot back, surging forward to capture Blake’s lips.

Blake leaned back. “I don’t know if I can associate with someone who wrote with Kenny Chesney.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at their positions. He tightened his legs around the country star, grinding down more forcefully. Blake’s eyes fluttered. “Is that so? Such a shame...”

“I have to abide by my morals,” Blake croaked.

“I’m always thirsty for a guy standing up for what he thinks is right,” Adam said. He used his mouth to unbutton Blake’s signature flannel. It took a bit more concentration and effort but the strangled gasps from Blake always made it worth it. Adam licked Blake’s chest, tracing his collarbone. He sucked his collarbone as the country singer shivered around him.

“Thirsty?”

Adam pulled back. “Seriously, grandpa? This terminology too hip for you? Thirsty. As in wanting of the sex. Or horny if your mouth didn’t get washed with—”

Blake shifted Adam, giving them a better angle. He dragged his teeth down Adam’s neck. Adam groaned, head lulling back.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” Blake smirked, at the effectively distracted musician.

Adam nipped Blake’s ear. “Says the man who is jealous I wrote a song for Kenny Chesney five years ago.”

Blake wormed Adam’s shirt over his head, which Adam allowed because he was a saint. The country star stared hungrily at the revealed ink. “I want to map out every tattoo with my tongue.”

Adam’s dick twitched and he knew Blake felt it. “Never go to prison. A lot of inmates will take advantage of that kink.”

“Just as long as no one takes advantage of your manhandling kink, darlin’,” Blake said huskily, his southern accent thickening.

Adam’s face flushed. Desire shot through him. “What—”

Blake’s arms left Adam’s ass to rise to either side of the singer’s heard. Adam’s firm grip with his legs and the fact he was snugly pressed against the wall prevented his fall. The grinding only slowed slightly as Adam tightened his grip on Blake’s back to secure his position. Blake loomed closer to Adam.  “Unless you want me to put you down and solemnly swear to never touch a precious hair on you head without—”

“It’s your own fault for being built like a tree!” Adam exclaimed. “Put me down and I fucking swear— _Blake..._ ”

Blake chuckled, reaching between them. Adam’s rant petered off as his zipper was undone and a large hand covered his dick. He moaned as Blake’s hand slowly slid up and down, precum leaking from Adam’s cock. Blake twisted his hand to get a better angle on Adam.

“Go faster,” Adam groaned, mouthing his way across any patch of skin he came across.

“And people think you’re not demanding,” Blake taunted, his pace not altering.

Adam ran a finger down Blake’s very hard boner. The country singer moaned as Adam’s hand disappeared into his boxers. “Go faster, Blake.”

Blake’s hand rapidly shifted up and down. He knocked Adam’s hand away, sliding fingers down his own boxers. Adam’s cry of protest was cut short as Blake swung out his cock, easily gripping both dicks in one hand. Adam moaned as Blake’s cock slid past his own. Blake’s large fingers tightened and Adam’s head thudded against the wall. Their heavy pants, not-very-stifled groans, and Adam’s swears filled the supply closet.

Fuck, Adam wouldn’t last much longer.

“Fast enough?” Blake panted.

“Acceptable,” Adam groaned, thrusting his own hips into Blake’s fist.

“Still want Kenny Chesney?”

“Never stopped,” Adam taunted.

Blake bit down on Adam’s neck, quickening his pace. Adam cried out as a pure shock of pleasure jolted through him, cum covering Blake’s hand. He dazedly realized Blake came mere seconds later. The country star groaned against Adam’s shoulder. His grip slackened.

Adam looked up at Blake. Blue eyes twinkled down at him, tousled hair fanning around his head. Adam stared at Blake’s swollen lips for a few seconds before surging up to kiss the country singer, his tongue sweeping into Blake’s mouth.

“That was fun,” Adam mumbled, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Blake’s. “Two thumbs up.”

“ _Two_ thumbs up?” Blake repeated, releasing Adam. The rock star reluctantly unhinged his legs so he stood next to Blake. “What an unexpected honor.”

“I do what I can for morale,” Adam mumbled, slouching against the taller man. Adam breathed in. Pine, sweat, and a distinctly _Blake_ smell surrounded him. Adam didn’t know he needed this until now _._

“So glad you’re a cuddler.”

Adam grunted, rubbing his face up and down Blake’s chest. He hoped Blake got stubble burn. It would make up for the no doubt very dark mark on his neck. Fucking caveman... “I’ve clung to you before.”

“I know, but I still feel like this is a milestone,” Blake said.

Adam raised his eyebrows. He hoped Blake could feel it. “Half-cuddling after a quickie handjob in a closet?”

“That and me expertly giving you exactly what you asked for,” Blake said.

“Kenny Chesney?”

Blake flicked Adam’s ear. Adam peered up and pouted at the country singer. He had a second of victory at Blake’s momentary flash of guilt.

“Yeah,” Blake said, “I gave you my affection, along with my perfection, and proceeded to make you feel so good you stuttered.”

Adam’s pout melted into exasperation. “Did you really paraphrase Stutter to me?”

Blake shrugged. “Possibly.”

“You’re a dork,” Adam said. “I could do better.”

“You really could,” Blake said.

“Stop that.”

Blake hummed.

Adam paused, taking in Blake’s glumness before pressing his lips against the country singer’s. He made this kiss linger, hoping the sweetness conveyed what words wouldn’t.

“Come on, we need to clean up,” Adam said, pulling away from Blake and tossing him what looked like a clean towel. “ _Somebody_ I know needs to perform without looking like he just had a quickie handjob in a closet.”

“Maybe they’ll think it’s the bedhead look,” Blake mused.

“Nah, they’ll probably think you’re unprofessional,” Adam said, smirking at Blake’s mussed hair. “I heard one of your openers talk shit about you to the audience. You should tred carefully.”

“Well, hopefully my status as ‘the main event’ will keep me in their good graces," Blake drawled.

“That’s what all great acts say before their show gets stolen by the dashingly handsome opener,” Adam said, throwing his shirt over his head.

“You think I’m a great act?” Blake asked gleefully.

Adam sighed. “Well _yes_ but you could’ve at least _pretended_ to be vaguely threatened by the rest of that statement.”

“I am,” Blake reassured. “I’m quacking in my boots.”

Adam rolled his eyes, straightening Blake’s shirt and running a hand through his hair. “Your hair is fucked. You should escape to your dressing room. Maybe get your makeup artist to help you.”

“My makeup artist has a name,” Blake reminded.

“I know, but I just like reminding you that you have a makeup artist on your tour,” Adam said. “It’s more fun than for me to tell you that Charlie can assist and judge you.”

“Charlie helps you too,” Blake protested.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who despises elaborate performances and gets confused by random things stylists say,” Adam said.

“I just smile, nod, and hope for the best,” Blake said.

“Oh trust me, everybody knows how lost you are,” Adam said.

“Damn.”

Adam smiled. “Go. I’ll stay in here and see if I can cover up your hickey.”

“Sorry about that,” Blake said.

“Yeah, you sound so remorseful,” Adam said dryly. “Get out of here before Hank kills you for fucking with the schedule.”

Blake shuddered. “See you tonight?”

“Duh.”

Blake beamed, cupping Adam’s face as he lingered for one last kiss. That last kiss successfully distracted the duo for the next ten minutes.

 

_June 2011_

_I need to talk to you._

That text should not sound so foreboding. Yet it caused Blake to leave his and Usher’s lunch early and backtrack to NBC. Usher only teased him slightly before leaving for his agent's office.

Adam didn’t often initiate texts with him besides the occasional insult or terrible picture he found of Blake online. God, when Adam found out he used to have long hair...

But this was different. Blake left Adam about 90 minutes ago. He dreaded what could have happened to Adam in 90 minutes. The rock star was nothing if not a constant bundle of energy that occassionally ruffled more than a few feathers, but with such a short time frame from their last meeting... Blake gnawed his lip. It seemed like an emergency

Blake rapidly turned a corner, texting Adam to meet him in their practice room, when he ran directly into Carson.

“Where’s the fire?” Carson asked. “And didn’t you leave an hour ago?”

“Yeah, Adam just needs help with something,” Blake said.

Carson’s eyes flickered down, taking in Blake’s heaving chest and crossed arms. “Is he alright? I’m assuming this isn’t just about his next performance...”

 “I don’t know,” Blake said. “That’s why I’m nervous.”

“Want me to come with you?” Carson asked. “This might be a network issue.”

Blake hesitated. “No, but I’ll text you if you’re needed.”

Carson nodded. “I’ll hang out here.”

“Thanks, Carson,” Blake said, grasping his friend’s shoulder. He strode past a few crew members and three doors until he stood outside his practice room. Blake burst through the red door.

Adam jumped on the other side, jerking his hands away from the piano. Adam’s leg shook rapidly as the singer stared at his coach with poorly hidden anxiety. “I didn’t expect you to come so quickly.”

“Are you ok?” Blake asked, striding towards Adam. Blake plopped into a nearby stool next to the piano, examining Adam. The smaller man looked paler than usual. His concern heightened.

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam said. “Sorry, this isn’t an emergency. I should’ve been less cryptic in my message. I’m just in the middle of—I shouldn’t have bugged you. Sorry, but you were the only one I wanted to talk to.”

“Adam, never feel bad for contacting me,” Blake said soothingly. “I _want_ to help you. And I will if I’m able.”

Adam gave him a weak grin. “A lot happened when you left.”

“Lay it on me,” Blake said, leaning forward. His knee brushed against Adam’s.

Adam traced his tiger tattoo as words tumbled out. “I was eating lunch with Matt, Aly, and the rest of the musicians when Lucas voted that I entertained the crew with music since I keep intruding on their practices.”

“Whatever came out of your phone cannot be worse than Matt’s Broadway,” Blake said.

Adam huffed a small laugh. “No, but it’ll probably be just as infamous.”

Blake frowned, reaching across to put a hand on Adam’s twitching arm. Hazel eyes darted up.  “What happened?”

“So I work at Almatrax,” Adam said.

Blake nodded.

“And yeah, I’m _technically_ on vacation and not working but last week one of my coworkers, who specializes in country music by the way, wanted to bounce some ideas off me for a new Gym Class Heroes song,” Adam rambled. “Which needed lyrics ASAP because of drama but whatever. It’s the music industry. We’re used to it.

"So I got a copy of the Gym Class Heroes song, which is very against the rule, so I could help Suzy. And yeah, I didn’t listen to the song until after Lives and by then Suzie wrote lyrics because she’s a capable human being. But I still had the song on my phone and that song played during lunch while my phone was on shuffle. And guess which artist is performing with Team Cee Lo and happened to be within hearing distance?”

Blake’s eyes widened.

“And he was _pissed_. Which I totally get. I mean, beside their band and manager, only Plaza and Suzie had access to the music.”

“Did he hit you?”

Adam blinked at Blake’s dark tone. “What? No no. Definitely not. He was close...But he didn’t! My shit explanation and Cee Lo calmed him down.’

Blake’s eyes never wavered from Adam. “So what happened?”

Adam shifted under Blake’s hand. “I, uh, well since I had the song, he was intrigued about, um, what lyrics I wrote for it.”

“Really?” Blake asked. Adam’s constant twitch suddenly had new meaning.

“Yeah **,** so I performed it—which was fucking terrifying, by the way. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve performed an artist’s potential song in front of them? Yeah, that’d be a grand total of zero—”

A small smile wormed onto Blake’s face. “Adam.”

“And not only was I performing a brand new, never heard by _anyone_ song, I sang with no music, and Cee Lo’s entire team and The Voice’s musicians judging me—”

“Adam.”

“And Travie McCoy was fucking _one foot_ from me, staring into my soul—”

“Adam, light of my life, what happened?”

The tattooed man cut himself off, shaking his head sheepishly. His singer flushed slightly. “He fucking wants my lyrics and wants me to sing on Gym Class Heroes’ next album.”

Blake froze for a second before yanking Adam off the piano bench and swinging him through the air. Adam yelped but Blake felt him relax into his embrace. Blake lowered Adam back to the ground. “I’m so proud of you. That’s great!”

Adam smiled. “Well, yeah...”

“Damn it, you made me think you were an inch from death,” Blake said. “I _knew_ as soon as the right people heard you sing, they would know you’re a star.”

Adam turned an interesting shade of red. The rock star attempted to roll his eyes dismissively, but he still hovered near Blake anxiously. “He said he wanted me, but I don’t think he thought about the logistics of it all.”

“What do you mean?” Blake frowned.

“Think about it,” Adam said. “I can’t do shit until The Voice is over. Gym Class Heroes is recording their album now. _Why_ would they wait potentially a month for a nobody musician? He’ll probably just give my lyrics to an actually established artist so they can finally be done with their album.”

“You need to stop doubting your own voice,” Blake reprimanded.

Adam jerked away from Blake. “It’s not me doubting my motherfucking voice, okay? I’m being realistic.”

“Really?” Blake drawled. “So you don’t think your voice is worth waiting potentially four and a half weeks for?”

“No!” Adam snapped. Blake narrowed his eyes. “Not for an album that should’ve been recorded last month. They gain literally nothing. They should get someone available and actually _known_ now. Why would they wait for me?”

“Because you have an amazing voice, Adam,” Blake said. Adam balked. “I don’t know why you don’t see it.”

“No one likes the sound of their own voice,” Adam dismissed.

Blake placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder. He glanced up at the country singer. “I love your voice,” Blake said gently, ignoring Adam’s squirm. “You were born a star. I’m just sorry it took the world this long to realize it.”

Adam’s hazel eyes were huge.

“Travie will wait for you,” Blake continued. “When you find the perfect artist for one of your songs, it takes a lot to let them go.”

Adam gulped. “But we barely talked. It was probably just a spur of a moment thing that doesn’t actually mean anything...”

“Adam, trust me. You planted a seed. Travie will wait for you.”

“You don’t know that,” Adam murmured.

“I do,” Blake disagreed. “He will wait and you will sound like you belonged with that song. Now, let’s talk to Carson. As much of an ass as he is, he _does_ know the more technical, official side of things. Come on, rock star.”

A warm body latched onto Blake’s side before he could move. Blake paused, lowering an arm around the smaller man with a smile.

“Thanks,” Adam said, releasing his coach.

“I’m here to help you, Adam,” Blake said, “with everything.”

Adam smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this chapter feels kind of filler-y to me, but I hope you still enjoy it! This is just the point all the plot lines happened to fall on (because I do actually have this entire story planned out. Nothing Lasts Forever is going to be obnoxiously long just btw). Plot will progress soon, I swear!
> 
> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Maroon 5’s new producer  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed by Jimmy Kimmel  
> April 2012 ¬ Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

Paul stood at the foot of Blake’s red chair as soon as Heather declared break. The country singer meant to send Adam a confused look, but the frontman already scampered backstage towards his food stash. Blake instead frowned down at the PA.

Generally, Paul only approached him whenever Adam or one of his contestants were in trouble. So, as friendly as the PA was, Blake couldn’t help the instinctive unease that overtook him.

“Yeah?” Blake asked.

“It’s about one of your contestants,” Paul said.

Blake blinked. “Already? That has to be a record. This is the first day of Blinds.”

“Nothing bad,” Paul said. “He just wants to talk to you. He’s waiting backstage.”

“Who is it?” Blake asked. He had what...five people on his team so far?

“Randy Miller.”

Blake’s smile dimmed. “Ah.”

Paul pursed his lips. He fidgeted with his clipboard. “So will you come backstage? Or no?”

“I’m coming,” Blake said after a moment. His coaching duties just started earlier this season with a certain person who really challenged his professionalism. If Adam hadn’t been there to calm him down, Blake had no idea what would have spewed out of his mouth. Blake's temperment of people insulting Adam, intentionally or not, was incredibly low. Of course, if Adam had been here, Blake would have never had a problem with Randy. “Lead the way.”

Paul nodded, his hair beginning to spring out from his gel. Blake silently followed Paul, shrugging at Gwen’s frown. Randy had not made the best first impression. Honestly, Blake wasn’t sure why any artist would attempt to alienate or insult any of the coaches. But the fact that Randy insulted Adam...

Alright, Randy thought Adam ‘didn’t have as much experience.’ He claimed to love Adam as a musician. But still, Randy’s comments set Blake on edge.

Paul led Blake to the hallway right outside of the room Carson resided in during the Blinds. Randy awkwardly leaned against the wall. He visibly swallowed when Paul and Blake came into view. Paul studied the duo for a moment. Blake forced his expression to be more neutral.

“I’ll be inside talking to Carson if you need me,” Paul said.

Blake nodded as the PA slowly wandered away, shooting back a suspicious stare.

“I wanted to apologize,” Randy said, forcing himself to make eye contact with Blake.

Blake raised his eyebrows.

“I know I come off kind of...”

“Dickish? Arrogant?” Blake suggested.

Randy’s mouth twitched sheepishly. “Yeah...I was just trying to be strategic. I could’ve phrased my concerns better, I know. I don’t think Adam is incapable, I just assumed the rest of you would be a better coach for me. But I...fucked up. I don't think I'm better than other people, I swear.”

Blake studied Randy. Randy hunched his shoulders defensively. “One of the first things I learned at this show is that you should never assume anything about anyone. People constantly surprise you.”

“Noted,” Randy said. “I just didn’t want to fuck over my chances before the show even begun. So I wanted to talk to you while it was still fresh. Trust me, as soon as I left the stage my sister called me a douchebag.”

“I actually do try to remain impartial in all my coaching decisions,” Blake said. “Just remember that we all want to help you, but we're human. No one wants to help an asshole. Try to think before you speak.”

“I have no filter sometimes,” Randy said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” Blake said.

Randy grimaced. “I know, but you’re the one who seemed the most upset about it...”

Blake shrugged. “I’m often labeled overprotective.”

Randy bit his lips. Blake forced himself to release a breath and really _look_ at Randy. Thick beard aside, the kid was probably early twenties. Twenty-four at most. No one had a great brain-to-mouth filter at that age. No telling how twenty year old Blake would have acted in front of a camera.  He ignored his mental Adam that instantly pointed out that he posed in front of cameras since he was eight. He dealt with enough bullshit from his actual boyfriend to deal with additional bullshit provided by his own head.

Blake shook his head. He would be hypocritical to judge Randy on one dumb action.

“I won’t hold your audition against you, after you apologize to Adam, anyway,” Blake said. “Not that he cared too much, but it’s the principle of things.”

Randy nodded seriously.

“Just know that some viewers might hold a grudge,” Blake said. "The world is very black and white for some fans."

Randy grimaced. “Yeah, I figured that.”

Blake clapped Randy’s shoulder. “It just means you have to be that much better of a singer. Woo them with your voice. We’ll woo them together.”

“Thanks, Blake,” Randy said, smiling.

Blake nodded. “Now, get. Some of us have a show to run.”

“Right. So see you later?”

A slight smile overtook Blake’s face. “You’re not kicked off my team. Course I’ll see you later.”

Randy let out a relieved laugh. “Right, cool. Thanks again.”

Blake shook his head as his contestant scurried down the hallway.

“Look at you not holding a grudge,” Adam said, leaning against the doorway. “I feel like you grew as a person.”

“How long have you been creeping in the shadows?” Blake asked.

“I’ve literally been here for a while,” Adam said. “It’s not my fault you both are equally oblivious.”

“Maybe you’re just that sneaky.”

Adam glanced at the door Randy escaped through. “You realize that the whole ‘Randy not wanting me as a coach’ thing was never a big deal. He’s at least honest.”

“He needs to think before he speaks,” Blake said.

“Yes, I was there during your spiel.”

“Randy might eventually insult someone important who does care. The sooner he learns to hold his tongue, the better.”

“Aww, am I important?” Adam asked, plastering himself to Blake’s side.

He rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around the smaller man. “For some reason.”

“It’s cute how you act like you didn’t get extremely defensive when Randy implied I was an inferior coach,” Adam said. “Maybe I should force you to recruit for Team Adam. It seems like your proper place in life to defend my good _important_ qualities.”

“I would do a better job than you,” Blake said. “Some of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth...”

“And you think someone with the initials B.S. is more believable?”

Blake nodded. “It’s my accent.”

“And your eyes,” Adam mused.

“Glad we’re in agreement,” Blake said.

“It does happen with most things, actually.”

Blake shrugged. “Come on, rock star. Let’s get some food to hide by the chairs.”

“Brilliant as always,” Adam grinned. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

 

_February 2012_

Adam mumbled as lips pressed tenderly against his face. He cracked an eye open, drinking in the sight of his sleep-rumpled boyfriend. Adam smiled softly, reaching towards Blake. Best way to get up.

“Adam, you have to get up,” Blake said.

Adam hummed, curling into the country star’s chest. He dragged Blake’s arm over him.

“You need to go on the Today Show.” Blake’s chest rumbled as he spoke.

The frontman patted Blake’s face.

“Adam.”

“Shhh.”

“You need to get ready,” Blake said.

Adam squinted at the hotel’s digital clock. He groaned, rolling into his boyfriend. “It’s 4am.”

“The Today Show is an early show,” the country singer said unsympathetically. Blake gave no inclination to move Adam from where he burrowed against his chest. His hand just continued to rub the frontman’s back.

Adam pouted. “You get to stay here.”

“But I get to stay here and support you on the TV,” Blake said.

Adam continued sulking.

Blake ran a thumb over Adam’s puckered lip. “You’re so dramatic in the mornings.”

Adam scowled at his amused tone. “Your face is dramatic in the mornings.”

“Just make sure you maintain that level of wit during the interviews, sweetheart.”

“There won’t be that much of an interview for me,” Adam yawned, rolling away from Blake but he still sprawled across the mattress. “They’ll probably be mostly aimed at Travie.”

“You do remember that you’re performing Sunday Morning after Stereo Hearts, right? They’ll definitely ask you about your single.” Blake sounded genuinely concerned.

Adam sighed before sitting up. He stared down at his boyfriend. His dark circles were probably more obnoxious than usual. Despite Blake’s best intentions, they didn’t actually get shut eye until around midnight. Adam ran a hand through Blake’s hair. “Yes, I remember.”

“Plus Hands All Over is released next month...”

“Yep. I see someone has been listening to Bryan.”

“Our publicist is not the only source of information I have,” Blake said.

“I know,” Adam said. “Ugh, you’re such a cheerleader.”

“I am really proud of you,” Blake said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You’re making it so big, so fast...you deserve all of this,” Blake said.

Adam pressed a kiss against Blake’s hair. “You’re no longer obligated to flatter me.”

“I just speak the truth, darlin’.”

“It’s too early for this level of earnesty. Direct your big eyes elsewhere.”

Blake shifted as Adam rolled off the bed and ambled into the bathroom. Adam bumped into the doorframe and frowned.

Blake snorted. “You’re doing a great job.”

“I hate mornings,” Adam said, twisting the squeaky sink handle. Running water echoed in their hotel room. “Remind me to never do morning things again.”

“How did you survive at Almatrax?”

“Almatrax didn’t really care about your hours, just as long as you got your shit done. I had a lot of late nights so it all evened out.”

“No wonder all of our practices during The Voice were in the afternoon,” Blake said.

“And now Sasquatch gets it,” Adam said, voice muffled around his toothbrush.

“How did you survive on the weird tour hours?”

“I slept a ton,” Adam said, “and in weird places.”

“No wonder you run on coffee,” Blake said.

“I’m only human,” Adam said, swinging the bathroom door open. Blake twisted in the sheets to gawk at him.

“Shit, are you done?” Blake asked. “You weren’t even in there a minute.”

Adam blinked groggily. “Um, yeah. I’m wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a beanie. It’s too early for effort.”

“It’s cold outside. We are in New York,” Blake said.

Adam just stared at Blake. Blake’s lips twitched.

“Just put on your grey sweater,” Blake prompted.

“Right, okay,” Adam said, throwing on his pullover. He walked the few steps to the bed, leaning down to kiss Blake. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to nap before your thing.”

Blake chuckled. “I expected nothing less. Now, don’t fall asleep on the way there.”

“No promises.”

“Text me when you get there.”

Adam yawned. “Kay.”

“Adam, I’m serious.”

“Text. Righto.” Adam lazily saluted.

“Do you need me to take you there? I’m worried about your current mindset,” Blake said, frowning at his blearily boyfriend. Adam blinked slowly. “I knew we should’ve gone to bed sooner.”

“Blake, I’m fine,” Adam said. “Besides, the Today Show sent a car because I’m fancy now.”

“The fanciest,” Blake agreed.

“I’m leaving.”

“Knock ‘em dead, rock star.”

Adam gave Blake a thumbs up as he disappeared through the hotel door. Blake shifted the pillow underneath him as he flicked on the TV to NBC. He still couldn’t believe Adam was asked to perform on the Today Show. Well, technically Gym Class Heroes was but Adam was asked to sing Sunday Morning so it counted.

Blake eyed the clock, turning on his cell phone. He was giving Adam twenty minutes to text him his arrival. Not that he didn’t trust Adam. His boyfriend had many skills. Operating in the mornings was not one of them. He let out a sigh as a Today Show preview ran on screen. Adam was flourishing better than Blake ever expected. He smiled softly as he stretched. And Adam deserved every second of it.

 

_January 2012_

Blake chuckled as his boyfriend practically leapt out of his car when he pulled up to Interscope Records. Adam nearly fainted when Interscope’s security just waved them through the gate after Adam rolled down his window. Interscope was definitely trying to make a good impression on the Maroon 5 frontman.

“Calm down, rock star.”

“I’m totally calm,” Adam said. “I'm the essence of zin.”

“Mhmm,” Blake said, smirking as Adam dashed towards the doors. Blake lengthened his strides. “I sensed that from you.”

“Fuck off,” Adam said.

Blake pulled the frontman into an one-armed hug. Adam flailed but allowed Blake to kiss his temple. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Adam flushed. “Don’t act humble, Big Country. You helped me get here.”

“I just provided you a platform,” Blake said. “You would’ve gotten here on your own eventually.”

Adam smiled softly up at Blake. “I really wouldn’t have. I needed your hick ass to kick mine into gear.”

“Twist my arm. I suppose I can take credit of everything you'll accomplish,” Blake said.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Can we actually enter the building now or do you want to keep lingering in the parking lot like a creep?”

“Lingering in the parking lot sounds fun...”

Blake chuckled at Adam’s exasperated look.

“I know you signed a contract with Interscope after The Voice,” Blake said, “but Christina and I are here in case anything doesn’t feel right. We can apply pressure if need be.”

“Look at you being all looming and threatening,” Adam said. His voice dropped to a husk that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it was since Adam was obviously deliberately being a dick. “Very sexy.”

Blake cleared his throat. “Just tell me if you have any concerns.”

“Well, all my music studio experience comes from Almatrax,” Adam said. “So I know the technicalities of everything. My contract is fair and they’re majorly sucking up to me right now, but...I don’t know. I just want a place with people who genuinely care what happens to Maroon 5. I don’t want to deal with any more office Hollywood bullshit.”

“We’ll find you a good entourage,” Blake said.

“I do already have a groupie,” Adam said.

“I am the best groupie.”

Adam chuckled as he finally opened the glass door. The waiting assistant instantly greeted Adam and Blake.

“So glad to finally meet your, Mr. Levine,” the assistant gushed. “Your time on The Voice was an inspiration. And Mr. Shelton! What a pleasant, unexpected surprise.”

“Sorry, I’m trying to teach him manners,” Adam said. “A surprisingly difficult feat, but I’m determined.”

Blake snorted. At least, Adam wasn’t overawed by the smartly dressed—and inevitably attractive—assistant and Interscope’s sleek lounge. A wide marble receptionist desk filled the wall behind the assistant, Interscope’s logo brandishing the wall.

A crack of genuine amusement broke through the assistant’s polite smile. “The more, the merrier. And if this is an indication that Mr. Shelton wants to sign on with us...”

“Nice try, sweetie,” Blake said.

The assistant readjusted her glasses. “I would be remiss not to try.”

“A for effort,” Adam said. “I’ll be sure to tell your boss.”

“Speaking of, I am here to introduce you to the main Interscope producer you will be dealing with,” the assistant said. “Just a short meeting before your recording session with Ms. Aguilera.”

“Official,” Adam said.

The assistant nodded shortly, turning on her heels towards the nearest elevator. “If you could follow me.”

Adam shot Blake a quick glance as they followed the assistant. The elevator doors smoothly slid shut.

“This meeting is only supposed to involve Mr. Levine,” the assistant continued. “If you like, Mr. Shelton, I can retrieve some refreshments for you or I can lead you to—”

“Blake isn’t coming?” Adam asked. Blake had to resist reaching towards the frontman.

A twinge of apology entered her eyes, but her mouth remained firm. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Blake said, casting Adam a soft smile. Adam still gnawed his lips but his eyes warmed reflexively. Blake wondered if Adam was aware just how quickly he turned into a pile of goop with a few strategic touches and reassurances from Blake. Of course, Adam could glance at Blake and the country singer would be in a similar state. “I’ll just wait outside if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” the assistant said.

Adam’s fingers tapped against the elevator railing until the doors finally opened on the fifteenth floor. The assistant clicked away on the tile floors. Blake brushed his hand across Adam’s lower back as Adam shifted past him. His boyfriend’s shoulders relaxed.

“Here we are,” the assistant said, slowing by a set of doors, unadorned except for a name. Blake raised an eyebrow. If _he_ had heard of that guy then Adam definitely had... “Mr. Shelton, if you could.”

“I will be sitting right here,” Blake said, plopping into the nearest plush chair. “Go have fun.”

Adam grimaced at him as he disappeared behind the black door. Blake forced himself to take a deep breath. Adam would be fine. And he was more than prepared to rush out of Interscope with Adam in tow if anything or anyone looked at Adam with anything other than respect. And no, Blake was not being unreasonable.

The assistant clicked out of the office, shutting the black door behind her. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Shelton?”

A stream of outrageous requests flooded Blake’s mind. And she would fulfill them without batting an eye. God knows what type of monstrosities she was forced to deal with on a daily basis.

“Tell me about yourself.”

The assistant blinked.

 

* * *

 

Pharrell Williams was the literal nicest person. All his previous nerves vanished once Pharrell opened his mouth. Adam wasn’t stupid. He knew Pharrell’s music. Fuck, he even distantly knew that Pharrell was a producer. But he never expected to actually _meet_ the man, especially in this setting.

“I’m ecstatic to finally meet you person,” Pharrell said. “This was the first season I tuned into The Voice and, I’ll be honest, the sheer level of talent floored me. I’m thrilled to help at least one of you.”

“Dude, dude,” Adam said. Pharrell smiled, sitting in the seat next to him. He left the imposing desk as soon as the assistant—Annie, apparently—announced him. “Just like...how are you my producer? You’re...you’re Pharrell Williams! Don’t you have more important shit to do?”

“Nothing is more important than helping a talented person succeed,” Pharrell said. “I do what I love, Adam.”

Adam blinked. Pharrell’s tone never shifted from soothingly reassuring. Holy fuck Pharrell could order an assassination and Adam would be incapable of doing anything but nodding supportively.

“Are you real?”

Pharrell laughed, reaching over to clamp a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Very human, unfortunately. But let’s talk about you... Honestly, if this were someone else I would recommend holding off on producing a full album, especially since you’ve essentially toured non-stop since The Voice ended. A lot of artists make the mistake of rushing into a studio release.”

“I swear our songs are actually decent,” Adam said.

“Oh trust me, I believe you,” Pharrell said. “You have over a decade-worth of very impressive songwriting experience and your single is inspiring. It’s what made me eager to work with you. You don’t sing into people’s ears, you sing into their hearts. I knew you accomplished that during The Voice and the fact that you maintained that same level and intensity with an original...”

“Sunday Morning only picked up steam after Stereo Hearts became a hit,” Adam blurted, flustered. Hearing Stereo Hearts on the radio was disconcerting enough, but somewhat expected because Gym Class Heroes was established and had at least four well deserved hits right now. Hearing Sunday Morning, a very Maroon 5 song, on the radio was just bewildering.

“Which you also wrote the lyrics for and the success of both shows your versatility,” Pharrell said. “You’re a unique artist, Adam. Let’s make magic together.”

“Coming from any other person’s mouth, I would laugh,” Adam said. “How can you make everything sound so believable?”

“It’s all about faith. I have faith in what you can accomplish and what we can accomplish together," Pharrell said. “I also know that Blake, at least, has been acting as a soundboard for your music. I don’t know him personally, but he seems very honest.”

Adam snorted. “Oh yeah, Sasquatch has been tactless and blunt about some of our potential songs. But helpful. So we keep him around.”

Pharrell’s eyes danced. “Good. Now I understand you’re recording Moves Like Jagger today.”

“Yeah, it was the only day Christina was available,” Adam said.

“That’s what Annie told me,” Pharrell said. “Before you record the rest of your music, I would like to review your sheet music and sit in on a few performances of your other songs. If that’s okay.”

Adam snorted. “That’s fine, man. I know the process at Almatrax is a lot more extensive. Labels don’t want to produce shitty music. Totally understandable. When do you want me to bring in the rest of the guys?”

Pharrell let out a surprised chuckle. “That’s one of the better reactions I got from that request.”

“It’s reasonable,” Adam shrugged. “Not everyone is a songwriter. Fuck, even songwriters suck sometimes.”

A smile brightened Pharrell’s face.  “Alright, let’s try to schedule a time later this week. I want to get Maroon 5’s album in production ASAP. I have a good feeling.”

_June 2011_

_"All the other kids with the pumped up kicks_

_You better run, better run, outrun my gun_

_All the other kids with the pumped up kicks_

_You better run, better run, faster than my bullet...”_

Adam cracked an eye open as he let out the last note. Blake nodded, grinning.

“That sounded really great, Adam,” Blake said. “You’re owning the song. I don’t know why you felt like you needed this extra practice. You realize that you don’t perform until next week, right?”

Adam smiled slightly, knowing that his frown still hadn’t lightened. He technically mastered Pumped Up Kicks a while ago, but there was part of Adam that craved more. The song sounded fine, but The Voice is a competition. His performance needed to sound better than fine. The Voice vocal coach agreed when Adam brought it up during their biweekly practice. He bit his lip. Adam felt comfortable talking with Blake about anything, but he had no idea how to approach this. It felt too much like going over Blake’s head.

Adam blinked as warm fingers tapped his wrinkled brow. He glanced up sheepishly at his coach.

“What’s on your mind, rock star?”

Adam hesitated. “It’s just...the song.”

Blake raised an eyebrow but made no move to interrupt Adam.

“Pumped Up Kicks is a good song. I always turn it up in the car,” Adam said. “But when I sing it I just feel...meh.”

“You don’t sound meh,” Blake said.

Adam shrugged. “I want to feel enthralled with my music. But this just feels...there. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage because I’m not as invested in my performance. America won’t vote for a mediocre performer. So, I was wondering if maybe I could, uh, possibly change my song for the Lives?”

Adam’s fingers twitched as he restrained from reflexively tracing his tattoos. Jesus Christ this was _Blake_. Not Mecha-Hitler. Yet Adam’s anxiety did not ease as Blake’s silence persisted.

“Song choice is a very vital part of The Voice,” Blake said.

“I know, that’s why I want to change mine,” Adam said. “Angela thought the song change is a good choice.”

“Vocal coach Angela?” Blake asked, pursing his lips.

“No, the other Angela I discuss Voice strategy with,” Adam drawled.  Unimpressed blue eyes stared at him. Adam cleared his throat. “Yeah, vocal coach Angela.”

“And you didn’t feel comfortable bouncing these ideas off me?” Blake asked.

“Angela and I just discussed this yesterday,” Adam said hurriedly. “It’s not like I’ve been scheming this with the entire Voice crew. This is our first time seeing each other since then.”

“And how long have you been considering a song change?”

Adam dropped his gaze to Blake’s right shoulder.  “...Since you assigned me Pumped Up Kicks.”

Blake sighed. “Adam...”

“You just seemed so certain and—”

“If you never liked the song, why did you ever go with it?”

“I _like_ the song,” Adam said.

“Not for performing.”

“I mean, you’re my coach,” Adam stuttered.

“That doesn’t mean you get zero say,” Blake said. “The opposite, actually. This competition is for you. I’m here to mentor _you_. If you don’t feel 100% about _anything_ I need to know.”

Adam swallowed. “I didn’t want to insult you...”

“Worried about my delicate feelings now, rock star?” Blake asked.

“Shut up,” Adam said, rolling his eyes away from his coach. “You know what I meant.”

“How about this,” Blake said. “We have complete honesty from now on.”

“No filter? Scary.”

“Yet necessary,” Blake said. “Worried about hurting my feelings...”

Adam flushed. “Well, assumedly you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh woe to me,” Blake continued, reaching out to Adam for support. The shorter man swatted Blake’s grabby hands. “Your aggressive ways make me faint.”

“You’re dumb,” Adam said.

“And _you’re_ an idealist,” Blake said. “Over analyze everything, I swear...”

“I only analyze the important things,” Adam said. “For example, if I were a coach with an artist that’s changing songs, figuring out their new song choice would be at least in my top five things to do.”

Blake chuckled. “So what song are you thinking of?”

“Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You,” Adam said.

Blake whistled. “Any reason?”

“I like it,” Adam said, “and love Alicia Keys. She’s an inspiration.”

“Did you write the song?”

“No, somehow music is produced without my involvement,” Adam drawled.

“Ah, I see someone remembered their sass now that their nerves are settled,” Blake said.

Adam rolled his eyes. “You are the most irritating person I have ever met.”

“And the most intimidating, apparently,” Blake said. “I am quite fearsome.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Adam said dryly.

Blake smirked. “Now, you realize that everyone else has more practice with their songs. This will put you at a disadvantage.”

“I know,” Adam said. “But, as you pointed out, I do have a week to practice.”

“We’ll eventually have to move you on to newer songs,” Blake mused. “It’s part of the reason I assigned Pumped Up Kicks to you.”

Adam shrugged. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

Blake shook his head. “Now let’s run through your _actual_ song. Got any of the music on you? Since somebody has been mulling over this decision instead of consulting their daunting, yet dashing, coach.”

“No,” Adam said, choosing to ignore Blake’s more obnoxious existence for the time being. “But I know it on piano.”

“Why aren’t I surprised?”

_January 2012_

“Aww, are you nervous?” Christina asked a twitching Adam.

Blake chuckled, wrapping an arm around Adam’s shoulders—thank God they’ve always been tactile. Christina didn’t so much as raise a neat eyebrow. Adam stopped poking random things around the room—and annoying the staff—and instead jittered next to Blake. Adam’s grin hadn’t left his face since he exited Pharrell’s office. Blake couldn’t help but smile fondly at his boyfriend. Blake remembered the first time he recorded an album. It was magical—and highly stressful, but Blake was here to smooth any potential crinkles in Maroon 5’s recording session.

“I think you’re mistaking excitement for anxiety,” Blake said.

“Is there a reason you're here?” the diva asked. 

The country singer shrugged.

“Touring just ended,” Adam said. “Blake is still clingy.”

Christina snorted. “That does sound like Blake.”

“Hey,” Blake protested. “I’m not clingy.”

Christina raised both eyebrows while Adam just smirked up at him in amusement. Jackass. Adam leaned heavily against him.

“Not at all,” Adam said.

Christina smirked. “I forgot how funny you two are. How did you get anything done on tour? I bet Hank has a ton of stories...”

“I found that if I pasted a picture of myself to the stage floor Blake wouldn’t miss me as much,” Adam said. “And it only took a few cities with Blake crying off the stage to give me inspiration.”

“Aww, poor Blake,” Christina said.

“Y’all are not as funny as y’all think,” Blake said.

“I’m just happy that Blake didn’t turn me southern,” Adam said.

“You barely scrapped by,” Christina said. “You better take some time away from Blake before you officially get infected.”

“Being southern ain’t a disease,” Blake said.

Adam put his arms on Blake’s shoulders and rubbed him gently. He shook his head sadly at Christina. “He has a terminal case, I’m afraid.”

Christina cackled.

“Okay, you’re going to record your part of the song,” Blake said. “I’m breaking you two up.”

“Blake, you’re not in charge of this,” Christina said.

“Don’t you need to be somewhere in an hour?” Blake asked innocently.

“As opposed to you who can just spend the day playing proud parent?” Christina asked.

“Looks that way,” Blake said.

Christina rolled her eyes but went into the recording room in a flourish. Adam watched with wide eyes on the other side of the glass as the diva slipped on headphones. Interscope sound technicians began adjusting the settings.

Blake nudged Adam. “Everything is going smoothly.”

Adam ginned.

“Christina Aguilera is on Maroon 5’s album,” Blake said.

“Any other pearls of wisdom you need to offer?”

“Told you so,” Blake said.

Adam frowned.

“I told you day one that you were a rock star.”

Adam rolled his eyes, smile fighting its way on the frontman’s face. “Whatever, dipshit.”

Adam shifted his weight so he pressed against Blake, harsh words, as always, negated by his actions. The frontman leaned his head against Blake’s shoulder as Christina began singing her first verse. The diva sounded flawless, as always.

_“You want to know how to make me smile_

_Take control of me just for the night_

_But if I share my secret_

_You’re gonna have to keep it...”_

 

_February 2012_

“So season three of The Voice,” Jimmy Kimmel said.  The audience clapped enthusiastically.

Blake slouched in the chair next to Jimmy’s desk, eyeing the ABC night show studio. Adam winked in the front row when their eyes met. “Was there a question in there?”

The audience laughed.

“The premiere is coming up,” Jimmy said.

“We still have a few months,” Blake said.

“But so far you’re the only announced coach.”

“Yep, that about sums it up,” Blake said. “NBC wants to advertise for me early. They need to attract talented artists.”

“Ooh, feeling cocky after Usher’s repeated win?” Jimmy asked.

Blake gave him a dry look. “I thought you were supposed to make me look good.”

“Right, sorry,” Jimmy said.

Blake shook his head slowly, catching Adam’s eye. “Hosts nowadays...so incompetent.”

“Hang on a minute,” Jimmy said. “We still have time to gush about you being Country Music’s Entertainer of the Year.”

“It’s too late, Jimmy,” Blake said. “That ship has sailed.”

“I won’t even show the picture of your beauty pageants,” Jimmy bargained. Blake shook his head as the audience laughed.

“Look what you caused,” Blake said. “Now everyone will just google the picture if you don’t show it.”

“Are there some pictures online?” Jimmy asked.

“Probably,” Blake said. “If digital copies weren’t already circulating, Adam befriended my mom while we toured. I know he is more than willing to share those photos with the world.”

“So how is he doing?”

“He’s sitting right there, Jimmy,” Blake said. “No need to be shy. He doesn’t bite too much.”

Adam smiled awkwardly as a camera turned towards him. He gave Jimmy a thumbs up.

“That’s it?” Blake asked. Adam threw him an exasperated look. “I should sit him in a crowd of people more often. He usually never shuts up.”

“Careful or else you’ll repel your future team members,” Jimmy cautioned.

“He thinks he can get away with shit because of his southern accent,” Adam called.

“You can’t curse on TV, Adam,” Blake scolded. “I can’t take him anywhere...”

Blake laughed at Adam’s raised middle finger.

“So any other news following last season?” Jimmy asked after Blake calmed down.

“Oh you're suddenly interested in how my team is faring post-Voice?” Blake asked.

Jimmy nodded. “Under your thorough mentorship and guidance.”

“Such a suck-up,” Blake sighed. “Well, Jermaine is releasing his EP, Patrick is currently putting together a band, Chelsea is one of Miranda Lambert’s backup singers, Raelynn is releasing a single—”

“Written by Adam, correct?” Jimmy asked.

“Adam wrote it as a gift. He won’t profit off her single in anyway,” Blake said. He glanced at Jimmy’s frown. “Just thought I’d mention it for legal reasons.”

“Uh oh,” Jimmy said. “Things already getting complicated for him?”

“Not particularly. Just the repercussions of quitting his songwriting job. Non-compete clause,” Blake said, turning towards Adam. “See? I can be tactful."

Adam gave him a very slow, unimpressed clap.

"And I suppose Adam has been doing pretty well too. I’m sure y’all have heard him on the radio.”

Blake beamed as the audience cheered. The frontman flushed.

“I feel like Adam will be one of your main sales pitches in the new season,” Jimmy said.

“I’ll just let the results speak for themself,” Blake said. “Which will be easier since Maroon 5 is releasing their first album next month.”

“Wow, that soon?” Jimmy asked. “That seems quick.”

“Quick and exciting,” Blake said. “It’s amazing how rapidly Adam manufactures songs—actual good songs. It’s intimidating and inspiring. He wrote most of them during my tour. It’s the damndest thing.”

“We’ll have to have him on here when his album premieres,” Jimmy said.

“Sounds good to me, Kimmel,” Blake said. “We’ll coordinate later.”

“Do you act as agent for all your contestants?” Jimmy asked.

Blake nodded, turning to the camera. “Which is why y’all should be Team Blake. I’m very thorough.”

Adam rolled his eyes, mouthing pervert, but Blake was going to pretend that it was actually ‘perfect.’

“And, on that note, we’ll be back with musical guests Florence and the Machine,” Jimmy said. “Don’t go anywhere!”

 

_June 2011_

“Ohh, let’s answer the one about the giant orgy!” Adam said.

Rita Reyes nodded. “I saw a stunt singer one that looked promising.”

“This is why I’m filtering these questions and you don't have free reign,” Carson said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t be such stick in the mud, Carson,” Adam said. He stretched on one of the lounge’s couch. Jermaine sipped his drink as he scanned one of the several computer monitors that now plastered on the lounge’s wall. Adam, Rita, Jermaine, and Tony were all asked—Adam was volunteered because Blake is an intrusive asshole and Patrick dropped out last minute—to do a live Twitter Q&A a few hours before tonight’s show. Since Team Blake and Usher were not performing tonight, all of their singers were decidedly free and relaxed. Hence their Twitter obligations.

Carson rolled his eyes. “Blake is a bad influence on you.”

“Funny, he says the same thing about you,” Jermaine said.

“Alright, @WetT0wel asks who your musical inspirations are,” Carson said.

“Booooring,” Adam said.

“Just answer the question.”

“Wet towel seems like an appropriate name for you,” Adam mused. “Are you sure you’re not the one asking these bland questions?”

“No, he would ask what we thought about Carson,” Tony said.

“True,” Adam said, “because who would ever dare to talk bad about Carson?”

“You,” Carson said.

Adam put a hand over his heart in shock.

Carson rolled his eyes. “Adam, answer the music inspiration question.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Adam said, “Stalin.”

Carson nodded as Adam tapped away on his phone. His smirk faded when Adam’s tweet popped up on the Voice Q&A tag.

 “ ‘Musical inspiration: Not @BlakeShelton or @CarsonDaly #VoiceQ&A,’ ” Carson read. Adam smiled innocently. “Really?”

“True, that was a bit harsh,” Adam said, fingers flying over his phone. Carson continued looking skeptical.

 

@AdamLevine: 

Just kidding @BlakeShelton is a fantastic human being #Inspiration #BestCoachEver #VoiceQ&A

 

“See? That’s sweet,” Adam said pointedly. Jermaine chuckled at Carson’s exasperated sigh.

Adam traded smirks with his friend. He anticipated the general round of chuckles. Expected it even. It was the least he could do since Carson insisted on feeding them tedious questions. What made him jerk back in surprise was the sudden explosion on Twitter. The tweets broadcasted on the computer monitors began blurring by as more people used the Q&A hashtage. Carson and the other Voice singers’ conversation faded as _Ahhhhs_ and _So cute I fucking swear_... overtook the monitors.

_What was that? Fifteen minutes until Adam mentioned Blake #Record #Shevine #VoiceQ &A_

_Why can’t The Voice be The Bachelor? #PrettyPlease #Shevine #VoiceQ &A_

Adam felt an inexplicable flush cross his face. What the fuck? He frowned at the common hashtag #Shevine. What the actual fuck.

Carson chortled. “Look what you started. It’s fine. They should clear out in a bit.”

“Don’t you and Blake have quite the following,” Rita teased.

“Apparently,” Adam said. “What’s this Shevine bullshit?”

“It’s your ship name,” Carson said.

“I am aware,” Adam said. “But why am I the last part?”

“Because Lelton sounds terrible,” Tony said.

Jermaine chuckled.

Adam shot him an offended look. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am,” Jermaine said. “And so is Raelynn.”

Adam followed his friend's point.

 

@RaeLynn:

And #Shevine is so much cuter in person. Trust me. #VoiceQ&A

“I thought someone was taking her SATs,” Adam said, tapping Rae’s name in his phone to send a disgruntled text. She was really not helping anything. 

“I guess she got out early,” Jermaine shrugged. “It’s summer. I’m sure everyone was rushing to finish.”

"The SATs don't work like that," Adam said.

Carson hummed as the stream of Shevine tweets didn’t slow.

“Ooh can we click that tag?” Rita asked. “I want to see how explicit the internet got.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Stick in the mud,” Carson said.

Adam flashed the host an unimpressed look.

“Maybe you should respond to the Shevine tweets,” Carson said after a few more minutes. Adam had alternated between gawking at the Shevine tweets and pretending they didn’t exist while the rest of the contestants snickered and ate food. “They’re blocking the actual Twitter questions.”

“I blame Raelynn,” Adam said, “and clever Voice editors.”

“Clever editors would have manufactured Shevine into a love story,” Carson said. “ _This_ is just from us showing viewers a small sample of yours and Blake’s antics.”

Adam ignored Carson on principle.

 

@AdamLevine:

Why Shevine? @BlakeShelton does not deserve to be in front #VoiceQ&A

 

“What that supposed to help?” Carson asked.

Adam shrugged. “Sure.”

“Carson, you need to relax,” Tony said. “Have a beer.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Carson said.

Tony lowered his own bottle. “...And?”

Carson locked eyes with Tony before shaking his head and returning his gaze to the monitors. He actually groaned when Blake’s name popped up on screen.

“You two don’t know the concept of diffusing, do you?” Carson asked.

“Blake is from Oklahoma,” Adam said. “He doesn’t understand the concept of most of things.”

 

@BlakeShelton:

@AdamLevine I’m in the front because I always deserve to be on top #BigCountry #Shevine #VoiceQ&A

“Is there any video evidence of me calling Blake ‘Big Country’?” Adam asked.

Carson nodded.

“Damn,” Adam said. “How dare he use his nickname against me.”

“Are you not monitoring us anymore?” Rita asked as Adam typed furiously into his phone.

Carson shrugged. “I don’t think I can.”

 

@AdamLevine:

@BlakeShelton Size doesn’t improve technique #CountryBumpkin #Yawn #VoiceQ&A

“Jesus Christ,” Carson said. Jermaine spat out his Starbucks while Rita might possibly be dying next to him. “You’re temporarily banned from this Q&A. You’re making things so much worse.”

“Serves Blake right,” Adam said. “He should be in a meeting but instead he’s dicking around on Twitter. I just care about his work ethic.”

“All I see are Shevine tweets,” Jermaine said. “AnalThrasher applauds the public foreplay.”

“Aww, thanks AnalThrasher,” Adam said. “I should tweet him...or her. Not to be sexist and assume.”

“Very considerate of you,” Rita commended.

Adam nodded sagely. “I do try to be fair in all anal thrashing.”

“Nope,” Carson said, snatching Adam’s phone. Adam frowned. “I'm serious. You’re on temporary Twitter timeout. We need people to refocus on the actual questions. We don’t need to cause a scandal and rumors.”

“Really? Come on,” Adam said. “I’m giving you guys attention.”

“We want good attention,” Carson said.

“This is funny as fuck,” Tony said. “Don’t worry.”

“See?” Adam said petulantly.

Carson studied the pouting rocker. “You’re just upset because Blake still gets to tweet stuff.”

Adam slumped on the couch. “It’s not fair.”

“I got you, man,” Jermaine said. Carson wandered away from his perch to read Jermaine’s tweet over his shoulder.

 

@JermainePaul:

 ****@AdamLevine would like the world (and @BlakeShelton) to know that @CarsonDaly currently holds his phone captive and he’s not allowed to tweet #VoiceQ &A

“ _Thank_ you,” Adam said as Jermaine’s tweet popped up on the screen. “See? Jermaine is a good friend. Jermaine cares about me emotionally and physically and—I swear to God if you post #Shevine4Ever I will slaughter you.”

“Too late,” Jermaine sang.

Rita wiped her eyes. “Oh my God, this is going so much better than I thought it would.” 

“The entire world is against me,” Adam muttered.

“Oh! Favorite midnight snack!” Carson said. “Username: NellyHung_63. Go.”

“Just trying to pretend like nothing happened?” Adam asked.

“That’s the plan,” Carson said.

“Can I have my phone back?” Adam said. “Because you realize Blake and I are both dumbasses with phones and can access our Twitter accounts outside of your supervision.”

Carson plopped down next to Adam, forcing the singer to shift on the couch. “Fine, but I have to approve all tweets for the Q&A. Because you’re still currently under my supervision and NBC time.”

“You’re such a dictator,” Adam said. “Favorite midnight snack...How about this?”

Carson just stared at Adam. “No, you cannot put ‘Blake’s dick.’ ”

“Okay, Hitler,” Adam said.

“Um, Carson...Adam?” Tony said. “Another Twitter thing is happening.”

“Is it Blake’s fault?” Adam asked. “Can he get lectured by NBC?”

“No...”

Adam paused at Tony’s tone. He turned to the stream of tweets. He grimaced. Another swarm of tweets was taking over the Shevine tweets. And they were all directed at him. He swallowed as he read the first few. This was more unnerving than Shevine.

“Looks like someone googled Adam,” Jermaine said. “They found the list of songs you wrote, man.”

“Yep,” Adam said, skimming over tweets.

_Wikipedia link has so many songs O.O #VoiceQ &A #ThanksVoiceFandom_

_Holy fuck, @AdamLevine wrote How to Save a Life album? That’s my favorite #VoiceQ &A_

_Summary of artists: Pink, OneRepublic, Drake, Coldplay, Fallout Boy, Rhianna, Lady Gaga, 3 Doors Down... WTF @AdamLevine #HeWroteAllMyFavSongs #Mindblown #VoiceQ &A_

_Lol @AdamLevine wrote with Kenny Chesney. Poor Blake... #VoiceQ &A_

Adam hesitantly glanced at Carson, suddenly all too aware of Tony and Rita’s gawk. Jermaine at least had an inkling of what Adam accomplished—he wrote too many songs for Alicia Keys for him not to—but Tony and Rita were staring at Adam like he was a different person. Even Carson raised his eyebrows as the tweets about Adam’s songwriting continued.

Adam didn’t even know he _had_ a Wikipedia page. He was inclined to blame Blake and Shevine for the fact that people decided to google him. That mindset soothed him a bit.

“Can I respond?”

Carson nodded.

 

@AdamLevine:

Lots of people contribute to producing music. I have a writing credit but I collaborated with other writers & producers. I’m not the sole creator of that music #VoiceQ&A

 

“Did you really write all of these songs?” Rita asked, tossing her phone with Adam’s Wikipedia page—surprisingly accurate Wikipedia page, what the fuck—towards said singer. Adam scrolled down the list, which was actually intimidatingly long. But everything looked longer in a bulleted list.

Tony whistled as Adam nodded.

“I have been a writer for over a decade,” Adam said. “You should see Suzie’s songs or Trevor’s. Trevor was hired on five years before me. He’s a beast.”

“Still...that’s a shit ton of music,” Tony said.

“Popular music,” Rita added.

Adam shrugged, eyes on the floor as he handed Rita back her phone. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Understatement,” Tony said. “Sorry I had no idea you...”

“Songwriters aren’t as well known,” Adam said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Your tweet didn’t work like you wanted,” Carson said.

Adam’s eyes snapped back to the screen.

_Sexy AND humble? Sign me up #VoiceQ &A #SorryBlake_

_Lol, OK Mr. ‘Lead Songwriter’ credit #VoiceQ &A_

_It’s really sweet that he wants everybody to get credit :) Usually people wouldn’t do that #VoiceQ &A #TeamAdam_

Adam frowned. Getting public credit for the songs was unsettling. He thrived in the spotlight—according to Blake and his mother, but both sources were biased and should be treated with suspicion always—but he had no idea how much he took working in the background for granted. But now that at least some people knew about his accomplishments... Adam didn’t know how to process it. He was used to muddling around without people caring what he did or where he was going.

Of course, that was before The Voice. Damn, The Voice changed his life so much already. It was kind of terrifying to think of. It was even more terrifying to think how quickly he would be shuffled away and forgotten if he got eliminated. But that was a thought he managed to escape unless he was restlessly rolling around in bed.

A sharp jab to the ribs made him frown up at Carson. The producer nodded to the screen.

 

@BlakeShelton:

What can I say? I sure know how to pick them #VoiceQ&A

 

Adam snorted, shaking his head. He smiled at Carson. “So what boring question is next?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the belated update! Even though I would like to thank BRIKAYLACOLE and Vansher for poking me with a much needed virutal stick to make sure I was still alive. Enjoy!
> 
> Timeline:
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer: Pharrell  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 – Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge

_May 2015_

“So what’s the weirdest interview question you’ve ever gotten?” Adam asked, hovering by Gwen’s chair for once, which may have everything to do with the fact Blake was currently spending the rest of the break in the bathroom.

The blonde paused mid-fan wave. “Probably if he could have my babies.”

“The interviewer?”

“He was drunk,” Gwen explained.

Adam’s frown only deepened. “At his interview?”

“It was after some award show,” Gwen shrugged. “The question was unexpected enough that it was vaguely flattering.”

“I’m sure that was the exact effect the interviewer was going for,” Adam said.

“What about you?” Gwen asked. “What’s your strangest interview question?”

Adam pursed his lips. “Relationship advice, mostly.”

Gwen cocked an elegant eyebrow from her perch in her chair. “Really? But don’t you get that question—”

“A fuck ton?” Adam interrupted. “Oh yeah, definitely. Doesn’t make it any less surreal.”

“You and Blake are both in the public eye, even before you two got together,” Gwen said. “That question is expected.”

“Expected, yes. But warranted? I doubt Blake or I are qualified enough to give anyone relationship advice,” Adam said.

“I think that many people aspire to have the ease of your relationship,” Gwen said.

“We had our rough patches like anyone else,” Adam shrugged. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”

“I remember,” Gwen said.

Adam shook his head. “Communication and acceptance is my go-to advice now. Interviewers are mostly satisfied.”

“That’s a surprisingly mellow answer from you,” Gwen said. “And helpful.”

“I add raunchy sex life depending on the interview."

“And there’s the expected response,” Gwen said.

“Are you telling Gwen about last night?” Blake asked, striding through to backstage doors to plaster himself behind the frontman. Gwen rolled her eyes but Adam spied her slight smile.

“Of course, you know how much she lives vicariously through us,” Adam said.

“You’re so self-sacrificing,” Blake said. “You’re an inspiration, darlin’.”

“Why do you two constantly make me go from admiring your relationship to wanting to vomit?” Gwen asked.

“You probably just have a weak stomach,” Adam said.

“She doesn’t understand our love,” Blake tsked.

Gwen shook her head as Heather marched on set and halted behind the cameras. “Not many people do.”

 

_March 2012_

Blake entered the kitchen to find his boyfriend hunched over a laptop, his cereal soggy and discarded beside him. Frankie’s tail thumped against the floor as the golden retriever caught sight of Blake. Adam continued clicking obliviously. The Maroon 5 frontman wore an uncharacteristically serious expression as his hazel eyes darted across the laptop’s screen. Blake crossed the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Adam.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go online yet,” Blake said.

Adam remained stiff under Blake’s arms. “Hands All Over came out today. We both knew I would check the album reviews ASAP.”

Blake nuzzled Adam’s sleep tousled hair. “I thought we were going to take this day to relax and ignore society. As planned.”

“I know, but James and Jordan sent me a text and...”

“What?”

Adam cleared his throat. “ 'After such a buildup, with Levine’s Voice journey and extensive songwriting background, Maroon 5’s debut album leaves— _disappointingly_ —little similarities with their hit and poignant single, Sunday Morning. Besides a few leading tracks, one an obvious name-dropping stunt, the album boasts nothing notable. The second half of the album can be dismissed as filler. Maroon 5 is a decent band and the album would have been better met if Maroon 5—and Levine’s voice potential—were unknown to the public. Hands All Over leaves listeners dissatisfied and—' ”

“That’s just _one_ review,” Blake interrupted. “One person’s review. This is why I told you to avoid the initial wave of reaction. I knew you would psych yourself out.”

“That was from Slant Magazine. _The Rolling Stones_ said that ‘Maroon 5 is too meticulous and needs to loosen up,’ ” Adam said, pitching forward enough to break Blake’s loose embrace. The country singer shifted to lean over Adam. “The Rolling Stones, Blake. They even said that our songs are ‘models of efficiency.’ ”

“I mean...that’s good, right?”

“No, Blake, that means we’re boring,” Adam said, running a hand across his face. “After all this work, we’re dismissed as boring and predictable.”

“They didn’t say that,” Blake said.

“Not in so many words.”

“Not in any words,” Blake said. “You’re the least boring person I’ve ever met. I doubt anything you touch can be anything but electrifying.”

“Apparently not,” Adam said. “The reviews for this album are so mixed...and it seems like all the big music influencers hate it.”

“They don’t hate it,” Blake disputed.

Adam shifted in the chair to cock an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “Really? I can easily prove this to you with the multiple reviews I’ve read. ‘Another manufactured pop band,’ ‘utter lack of creativity,’ ‘obviously rushed album.’ ”

“Adam, these reviews don’t dictate your life,” Blake said.

“Damn it, maybe Plaza was right,” Adam muttered lowly, but little could escape Blake when he was scarcely an inch away.

“Oh no,” Blake said, reaching around Adam to shut the laptop. He squawked indignantly but made no move to retaliate other than turning towards Blake. “No more internet for you. I refuse to let you go down this path again.”

Adam scowled. “I’m not going down that path. Your mother henning is not necessary.”

Blake hummed, pressing kisses into Adam’s frown. The frontman unwillingly softened under him. “You seem to forget that Plaza is a dick capable of mistakes. Don’t give him power over your life again. You also seem to forget that faceless music companies and reviewers hold little sway in your life. Your career and success is what you make it. Not anyone else.”

Hazel eyes rested on Blake’s face. Adam smiled slowly after he apparently found whatever it was he looked for. He pressed against Blake.

“A support system is always nice. And you’re the best one I could ask for.”

“Plaza makes anyone look better.”

Adam snorted. “One, Plaza was never a part of my support system. Two, you never even met Plaza besides that one time during The Voice. You don’t know him, babe.”

“I know on principle he is a dick,” Blake said. “I’m intuitive like that.”

Adam hummed, his gaze shifting to the laptop. Blake cupped his face, easily turning hazel eyes back on him.

“I just...I expected something more when we released an album,” Adam said sheepishly. “Which is stupid. I know how sensitive the music industry is. Nothing ever goes how the artist hopes...”

“Do you trust me?”

Adam blinked. “Course.”

“Do you trust Pharrell?”

“Yeah...”

“Would either one of us let you release a shitty album?” Blake asked, watching Adam’s slight confusion vanish. He snorted.

“I suppose not,” Adam said. “You do need a solid campaign platform next season.”

“That is my sole motivation in everything I do,” Blake agreed, his fingers running up and down Adam’s arm.

“Knew I should have gone with Cee Lo,” Adam said. “He would never use me in such a fashion.”

“I need more loyal team members,” Blake mused. “You’re a bad influence. You made the entire team talk mutiny.”

“Only a couple times,” Adam said. “Besides, you just need to brainwash newcomers with your dimples. Worked for me.”

“Did it really?”

Adam shrugged. “It was definitely a factor.”

“I knew you used me for my body.”

“You give me little choice,” Adam said. Blake hummed. Adam’s banter was half-hearted at best.

Blake studied his boyfriend, watching as his eyes once again became unfocused. Adam, as usual, let his inner demons and doubts gnaw at him and consume all his attention. The frontman traced a tattoo absently, brow already furrowed. Blake leaned down and lightly pressed a kiss into Adam’s frown lines. Hazel eyes sharpened on Blake’s face.

“I don’t think so,” Blake murmured.

“What?”

“I can’t have you thinking too much about a couple bad reviews,” Blake said.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose,” Adam protested mildly.

“You’re not doing a whole lot to refrain from it,” Blake said. “So it’s my duty to pick up the slack.”

Adam’s face grew amused. “How’s that? An intense game of Scrabble?”

“We can,” Blake said. He lowered his lips to cover Adam’s. “Or something else.”

Blake felt Adam smirk underneath him. “Oh really? We just got out of bed. What if I wanted to be productive today?”

“You lost that privilege,” Blake said, reaching down to circle his hand around Adam’s wrist. He tugged lightly.

“I can’t believe you’re using your body against me,” Adam said, sliding off the kitchen chair and allowing himself to be led upstairs. "I mildly protest."

“I have to use everything in my arsenal,” Blake said, “so I can to combat your self-destructive tendencies.”

Adam hummed. “Maybe I should moan around you more often.”

“That’s what she said.”

“And this is why I’m the romantic one,” Adam said.

“Don’t act like you’re not amused,” Blake said. “My sharp wit is one of my best assets.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Adam said.

Blake’s protest was cut off by a pair of lips. To be fair, they were a very delectable pair of lips.

 

_June 2011_

Adam attempted to do more than fidget in his chair and blink dumbly from Travie McCoy to Carson to Mark Burnett, the head NBC producer, but he was failing. Hardcore. Burnett summoned Adam into his office forty minutes ago—and by summoned Adam meant that Carson nicely told Adam that Gym Class Heroes and NBC worked out a deal that needed his approval. A deal Adam had not been aware was even in the works until an hour ago. But Carson simply smiled and said NBC worked hard to help vocalists succeed. Adam still assumed his coach had a hand in these dealings.

“So you can record your part in Mr. McCoy’s song this week,” Burnett said. Adam was 72 percent certain that this was Burnett’s third time emphasizing the plan. But Adam didn’t mind. He was sure his slack-jawed state was very visible. “But your contribution won’t be mentioned until the album’s release, which takes place after The Voice. Therefore, there is no breach in contract and Gym Class Heroes can finially wrap up their album.”

“Finally,” Travie said. “This song has made the studio session for Paper Chronicles II stretch out longer than necessary.”

“Adam, do you have any questions? You’re quiet,” Carson prompted.

Adam straightened his spine in Burnett’s leather chairs. Burnett stared back at him. He vaguely reminded Adam of a principal. “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed.”

“I told you we were using your vocals,” Travie said.

“I thought you were being nice.”

Travie snorted. “Nah, man. I don’t joke around when it comes to my music. If I was only using your lyrics, I would tell you.”

A weight eased off Adam’s shoulders. He sighed. Travie’s matter-of-fact tone was incredibly soothing.

“Awesome,” Adam said. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

Travie shrugged, giving Adam a small smile. “It’s cool. It makes me feel like I’m helping a struggling artist, which is ridiculous because you already have so much experience...Also, I want to eventually say that I was your first album.”

“After my failed high school one that I’ve hopefully erased all traces of,” Adam said.

“I don’t know, man,” Travie said. “It’s the internet. It’s out there somewhere.”

“Damn.”

“I’m glad everyone is on the same page,” Burnett said, giving Adam what could pass as a smile. Of course, it could also pass as a grimace. Adam really needed to learn Burnett’s body language.

“Thank you so much for helping me work around my contract,” Adam said. “This is an amazing opportunity.”

“Our vocalists’ success is one of our top priorities,” Burnett said. “We did what was necessary.”

“Still,” Adam said. “Thanks.”

Burnett shook Adam’s offered hand. “Absolutely no problem. Will I see you at tonight’s show?”

“Supporting from afar in the lounge,” Adam said.

Burnett grunted, turning to shake hands with Travie. Carson brushed a hand lightly over Adam’s shoulder. The singer raised an eyebrow.

“I told you we’re here to help,” Carson said.

“Yeah, yeah, you and Blake can add it to your business cards,” Adam said. He shifted his gaze to Burnett, who was still chatting with Travie. “Thanks for finding a way around the contract.”

“That clause is only intact to stop artists from dropping out midseason for a record deal or unfairly releasing music during their season,” Carson said. “This only helps your personal career. There’s no reason for us to be anything but supporting.”

“I’ll be honest,” Adam said, “I didn’t expect this level of commitment from a reality show.”

“The Voice is more than a reality show,” Carson said.

“You should make that The Voice’s new slogan,” Adam said. “Actually, what is The Voice’s slogan? Do you guys have a slogan?”

Carson shrugged. “Bringing the biggest talent to the biggest stars?”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Should I just pretend that you said that with more confidence?”

“Carson, meeting?” Burnett interrupted. Both Adam and Carson jerked around. The host recovered first.

Carson nodded. “Of course. See you, Adam.”

“Saved by the bell. Teacher’s pet,” Adam murmured. He turned and flashed Burnett a smile. “Thanks again.”

Burnett nodded as Adam, followed by Travie, whose proximity still made Adam nearly hyperventilate. Burnett’s office door clicked shut behind them.

“Travie, I just—”

“Don’t thank me again, man,” Travie said. “This is a mutually beneficial relationship.”

Adam smiled. “I look forward to it. Do the rest of Gym Class Heroes know what I sound like?”

“Nah, but they trust my judgement,” Travie said. “My manager wants to be present when you record your contribution to Stereo Hearts at Almatrax. Do you know when that is yet?”

“Um, not yet,” Adam said. “I’m turning in my lyrics to Plaza in a few days and we’ll schedule a slot then.”

Travie raised an eyebrow. “You’re just now turning in the lyrics to Almatrax?”

“Yeah, I just need to meet with Plaza since my lyrics didn’t exactly follow Almatrax protocol,” Adam said. “Plaza couldn’t meet until Thursday.”

The meeting with Plaza occurred Thursday because Adam’s initial attempt to use James to register the lyrics with Almatrax failed and Plaza called him three times before finally leaving him a voicemail to come to his office. Thank God Plaza was a busy man and Adam had at least a few days to practice his potential grovel or piss match with Plaza. Finalizing Adam’s lyrics wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but Gym Class Heroes, like all big clients, had their songs under lock and key and only the essential Almatrax employees had access to them.  And taking said songs off of Almatrax property was a huge legal liability.

Apparently, Adam successfully swallowed his anxiety because Travie just hummed. “I’ll give you my manager’s number, man. That way you can call her when you know.”

Adam ignored his slight thrill as he passed Travie his phone—the phone Travie was no longer intent on destroying, unlike their first meeting. “Sounds good.”

That sounded nonchalant, right?

Either way, Travie fist bumped him before sauntering down the hallway. Adam may have gaped after the Gym Class vocalist for an embarrassingly long time.

“Why don’t I ever elicit that response?”

“I only do that with impressive artists,” Adam said, turning to his coach. Who apparently was prone to creeping down the hallway like a stalker. It’s to be expected from a tactless country boy, Adam supposed.

“I have it written proof via tweets that you think I’m a musical inspiration,” Blake said.

Adam patted Blake gently. The country singer eyed him distrustfully. “You’re a musical inspiration as in if you can make it, anyone can.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “Why anyone thinks you’re sweet...”

“People think I’m sweet? Who?”

“I’m sure some viewers do,” Blake mused. “Raelynn definitely does.”

“Rae might, but she is no longer impressed by my musical knowledge,” Adam said. “She has lost all respect and use of me.”

“That was bound to happen eventually.”

“You’re a terrible coach,” Adam said. “You just gutted my entire self-esteem.”

“I doubt that,” Blake said. “So any reason that you stalled officially turning in your lyrics to Almatrax?”

“No need for you to go into mother hen mode.”

“There’s every reason for that,” Blake said

Adam grimaced. “I just hoped I could avoid a meeting with Plaza. Gym Class Heroes’ music isn’t technically supposed to leave Almatrax property. Of course, songwriters do that type of thing a lot—”

“They do?”

“It’s safe, grandpa,” Adam said. “No one has ever leaked a song. Besides, Stacy only lets it happen after you’ve worked there at least a year. No one crosses Stacy. Songwriters just sometimes hit a rut and need to work from home. So they take the music with them. It’s an open secret. Almatrax heads generally don’t care as long as a satisfactory song is produced.”

“Plaza cares,” Blake said.

Damn, Adam was hoping his coach missed that. Blake’s laser focus made Adam’s gaze shift to his eyebrows in order to avoid the worried, wary blue eyes. “He’s only peeved because I’m technically on vacation and unaffiliated with Almatrax at the moment.”

“I don’t like Plaza,” Blake said.

“You met him once,” Adam said, unable to hold back the instant smile Blake’s dark tone caused. “He’s not going to _do_ anything. I am one of Almatrax’s head songwriters. Too many other producers and executives like me—or at least the music I produce—for him to do more than temporarily suspend me or something.”

Blake continued to study Adam’s face. Damn, why did his coach insist on being so attentive? “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Not for this,” Adam said. “It’ll be super boring. Registering lyrics is not the most riveting process.”

“Adam.”

“Plaza will behave,” Adam said. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to piss off Travie by refusing to let me sing. It’s not his decision.”

“If you’re sure...”

“I am,” Adam said. “Now did you creep down here for a reason or...?”

Blake shrugged. “I got what I came for. Come on, show me that sushi place you’ve been rambling about. We can grab dinner before the show tonight. Unless you need more time to primp before show time.”

Adam clutched his heart, easily keeping pace with the taller man’s strides while he ignored Blake’s mocking comments. “Is the country bumpkin spreading his horizons? Finally eating more than deer and cans of beans?”

“I could have eaten sushi before,” Blake said mildly.

“Have you?”

Blake pursed his lips. “...No.”

“Come, come, uncultured buffoon I somehow affiliate with,” Adam said. “Let me change your world.”

“I will dislike it on principle if you keep this up,” Blake threatened.

“So I’ll assume that you love sushi either way,” Adam said. “Not that it’s a competition, but I win. Ha.”

“I’m throwing you under the bus if your ‘food’ gets me sick tonight,” Blake threatened. “Heather will slaughter you.”

“Heather loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Blake instantly disputed. Rudely. "Not compared to one of The Voice's big names."

“She might...eventually.”

“I have her on speed dial,” Blake said.

“You’re so whiney,” Adam said. “How does anyone take you seriously?”

“It’s my height.”

Adam’s eyes flicked up Blake’s frame. “You are misleadingly imposing. As long as no one focuses on your face.”

“Every time we talk, I regret turning my chair for you,” Blake said.

“Please, I’m your favorite,” Adam teased cockily. “It’s okay. I’ll keep your secret.”

“Oh joy,” Blake said dryly.

“Now let’s eat raw fish.”

Blake’s face was very unimpressed.

 

_June 2012_

Adam gnawed his lip as he flipped through the binders the tattoo artist laid on the counter. The tattoo artist actually went to Maroon 5’s concert last night, which was fucking awesome, and offered Adam a discount on a tattoo, which was even more fucking awesome. Adam never said no to a discount. So Andy, the tattoo artist, opened his parlor after hours just for the musician. Adam could get used to perks like this. Plus he had the itch for a new tattoo for a while.

He rubbed his right arm. It was relatively bare besides the tiger and “Mom” tattoo. Seemed a good place as any to get a tattoo. But which one? The frontman ran fingers over some of Andy’s more intricate designs. He was an artist, that’s for sure. But none of them were speaking to him.

Jesse slung an arm around Adam’s shoulders. “You never spend this long picking a tattoo. What’s up? Not feeling it?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Adam said.

“You should get a dragon,” Mickey said, leaning against the sleek counter.

“You always want me to get a dragon.”

Mickey pushed up his glasses. “That way you eventually get a dragon.”

“I see no flaw in that logic,” Jesse said. “You should get a dragon.”

Adam scoffed. “What if I promise to forever reserve a spot on my body for a dragon?”

“That’s all I ask,” Mickey said.

Adam nodded absently as he flipped to the last page in the binder. He pursed his lips. He wanted a tattoo. He _knew_ he did. And yet...

“Nothing?” Mickey asked.

“None of these seem right,” Adam said, “which sucks because Andy is a fucking artist and he opened up his parlor specifically for me.”

“Andy already got a picture and autograph from us for his wall of fame,” Mickey said. “He won’t be too heartbroken if you decide you don’t want one.”

“But I do want one,” Adam said.

“Do you want this one to mean something?” Jesse asked.

“And add to Adam’s small fraction of significant tattoos? Exciting,” the bassist said.

Adam shrugged. “Tattoos are art. They don’t need meaning.”

“But you want this one to,” Jesse said. “For what?”

Adam’s frown barely had time to form. A glowing picture of a certain country singer with twinkling blue eyes instantly sprung to mind.

“Blake.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. Jesse cocked his head to the side.

“Shit, dude, I thought you would get another Maroon 5 one or something,” Mickey said. “You were the first person to lecture me on the dangers of getting a tattoo related to a significant other. I like Blake, but you guys haven’t even been together a year—”

“We’ve been dating for nearly eight months,” Adam interrupted. “And Blake is easily my most serious relationship."

"I know, but five years down the road—"

"We both _want_ to be together," Adam interrupted. "I just...I really like him. So much it terrifies me.”

Mickey’s face softened but his frown persisted. “But getting a tattoo for him...”

“It’s not like I’m plastering his name over my heart, chill,” Adam said, rolling his eyes slightly. “I want something subtle.”

"So clearly inking your body is the way to go," Mickey said drily.

Adam rolled his eyes, flipping through a new binder.

“Adam, you’re permanently marking your body for him,” Mickey said. “You and I both know that you’ll never get a tattoo removed.”

“And I _want_ to permanently mark my body for him,” Adam said. “Blake has had a major impact in my life. Even if something does happen to us, which I doubt, I won’t regret the tattoo.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Adam snapped.

“Dude, I support you and Blake, you know I do,” Mickey said. “But...”

“But nothing. Stop.”

“Jesse, back me up,” Mickey said, turning to the keyboardist.

Jesse hummed thoughtfully as he flipped through a discarded binder.

“What about barb wire?” Jesse suggested.

“What?” Mickey and Adam asked.

Jesse smirked. “A band of bard wire around your arm. Like Blake’s.”

A shiver went through Adam at the thought of him and Blake sharing a tattoo. Not that the country singer had any input on the impromptu couple’s tattoo. His heart pounded. Adam was getting a couple’s tattoo—potentially. Could this even be considered a couple’s tattoo? This would be Adam’s longest sign of commitment. Apartment leases last maybe a year, tattoos last for a hell of a lot longer. Blake was more than worth it.

“Adam is bullheaded enough to ignore everyone,” Jesse said, "and he also never fucks around with ink. If he wants one for Blake, I say go for it.”

“And this is why Jesse is my favorite,” Adam said. “He accepts the inevitable.”

Jesse rolled his eyes.

“I support you and Blake,” Mickey said. “I just worry...”

“I know, Mom,” Adam said. “Just trust me when I talk about Blake’s importance, kay?”

Mickey nodded sheepishly.

Andy’s door squeaked at the tattoo artist appeared in his office doorway. He eyed the closed binders. “You decide against it?”

Adam grinned. “Nah. How do you feel about going off books?”    

 

_March 2012_

Adam moaned, face pressed against his pillow as Blake steadily thrust in and out of him. Everything had been tender, from Blake slowly taking Adam apart with lubed fingers to the endless trail of kisses. Adam’s body was constantly on fire. The country artist never settled one place long enough to quite satisfy his want. Adam couldn’t decide if the slow, teasing pace was a God’s send or a curse. Either way, he was incapable of doing anything but groaning Blake’s name.

Blake’s grip was firm on his hips, fingers splayed across Adam’s back possessively. Adam was just grateful Blake finally deigned to get down to business. His boyfriend misled him when they first entered the room, practically throwing Adam’s sweatpants and loose shirt to the floor. Adam expected their usual style—rough and lustful. But then Blake laid out his prone body and refused to let Adam do more than dig his fingers into Blake’s arms.

Blake thoroughly took care of him. His tongue worshipped every inch of Adam’s skin, paying special attention to his many tattoos. All of Adam’s attempts to wrap his hands around Blake or rut against his solid mass were instantly blocked until Adam was distracted by whatever infuriating thing Blake decided to do with his hands.

But now, he was close. After years of foreplay. God, Adam was so tightly wound. He was ready for a release. They both were.

“Blake,” he said. Not desperately, not expectantly. Just for the rightness that overcame Adam each time he said it.

A sweaty hand glided down Adam’s back. “I’m here, darlin’.”

Adam keened as Blake shifted his angle, hitting his sweet spot every single time. Jolts of pleasure pulsed through him. His boyfriend’s calloused hand slid past Adam’s waist and wrapped around his leaking cock. He swore as Blake started stroking him.

“ _Blake!_ ”

A thick stream of cum erupted from Adam. The frontman buried his face into his pillow, letting the cotton muffle his louder cries. Blake rumbled something above him, his thrusts turning eradicate. A slick hand ran through Adam’s hair, shifting his face sideways. His swears filled the room as Blake came in Adam after a few quick thrusts.

Adam grunted as Blake slide out of him. He dragged Blake down to the mattress, avoiding the damp stain. The country singer fell easily, twisting so he landed on his back. Adam hummed in approval as he burrowed into Blake’s chest. He mumbled happily as fingers stroked down his back.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Blake murmured.

“Fantastic, relaxed, thoroughly fucked,” Adam listed, eyes closed as he pressed into Blake’s shoulder. “You don’t have to keep asking, you know.”

“I want to,” Blake said.

Adam snorted, cracking open his eyes to smile at the earnest blue eyes staring down at him. “I sometimes forget how much of a country gentleman you are.”

Blake leaned down, pressing his lips against Adam’s forehead. “That just means I need to be more of a gentleman to you.”

“It’s times like these where I question my title as Most Romantic,” Adam said.

“I’ll remind you that you said that when you’re in a particularly cocky and indignant mood later,” Blake said.

“Thanks, boo. I knew I could count on you.”

“I what I can to earn my keep,” Blake said. “Including the occasional fucking out of the brains.”

“Everything you say spells romance,” Adam said. “I might have to officially pass the Most Romantic title to you.”

“I thought you would say that,” Blake said. “I accept the role with the utmost regard and adoration for a certain someone.”

“Your horse?” Adam guessed.

“Twiz is a great horse,” Blake said.

“I knew you’d eventually leave me for that stallion,” Adam said. “What can I do to keep you by my side?”

Blake chuckled, his hand continuing its trace Adam’s exposed back. “I can think of a few things...”

“I’m not watching Real Housewives,” Adam said.

Blake huffed. “Adam, you gotta give it a shot. It’s funny. Briana—”

“Reality TV kills brain cells,” Adam interrupted. “I’m still not over the fact that it’s your go-to TV show. What do you claim your favorite TV show is in interviews? Duck Dynasty?”

“I actually never had that question,” Blake said.

“I’ll be sure to inform Carson of that.”

“I should have dated someone less infuriating,” Blake mused.

Adam snorted. “Then you’d be so bored. I’m the whole package: conniving, yet sweet, unexpectedly witty, multi-talented, and, of course, humble. You’re welcome.”

“You forgot unbelievably sexy,” Blake said.

“Right, my bad,” Adam said.

Blake hummed. His probing gaze making Adam already mentally prepare for the country singer’s inevitable question.

“So how _are_ you feeling?”

“I’m currently basking in the post-coital afterglow,” Adam said.

“Adam...”

“You’re ruining the afterglow,” Adam said, but he rolled slightly so he could stare up at his boyfriend. “I’m fine. The reviews are still in the back of my mind. And yeah I wish the overall response was better, but—”

“Bad reviews happen to the best of us,” Blake said. “You’ve read some of my album titles. Clearly not all of them are winners.”

Adam chuckled softly. “But you’re country. I’m sure they’re intrigued by CDs that sound like a back alley restaurant in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t think that was as reassuring as you meant it to be,” Blake said.

“I’m pretty sure it was exactly the right amount of reassuring,” Adam said.

Blake rolled his eyes.

Adam kissed Blake’s shoulder. “I’ll calm down when it’s no longer the day of. Those reviews just freaked me out. Thanks for...distracting me.”

“It’s why I’m here,” Blake said, waggling his eyebrows.

“So that’s why you spent the night,” Adam mused.

Blake only stayed over at Adam’s house a few days a week. Mostly to see Adam, but partly because his place was more homey than whatever rental unit Hank pointed Blake towards during his LA stays. Adam gave Blake a few drawers the first week with little ceremony. Adam kept insisting to his bandmates that this wasn’t a big deal. He doesn’t think they agree.

“I do have a little bit of foresight,” Blake said. “Such as putting together a quick Twitter poll.”

Adam blinked, sitting up. Blake grudgingly followed suit. “What? When?”

“Before I came downstairs for breakfast,” Blake said. “I asked Twitter for a general consensus of Hands All Over. I can read the responses dramatically for you if you like.”

“I thought you banned social media interactions for today,” Adam said.

“I banned you from freaking out on the first day your album is released,” Blake said. “I assumed I would need the public’s backing when you ignored my sound advice.”

Adam snatched Blake’s phone from the side table, quickly typing in the passcode. “Have you read the responses?”

Blake shook his head, huddling behind Adam. “I was a tad busy.”

Hazel eyes darted across Blake’s screen. He released a breath and relaxed into Blake as his boyfriend tucked his head into the crook of Adam’s neck. A hesitant smile crossed his face.

“They...they like it,” Adam said as he scrolled through Blake’s Twitter feed. “Well, most of them.”

“Course they do, darlin’,” Blake said. “They have ears.”

Adam scoffed.

_Ahhh too many favorites already. I know what I’m listening to the rest of the month #HandsAllOver #Maroon5_

_Moves Like Jagger will take over radio stations this summer #CalledIt #HandsAllOver_

_Just when I thought @AdamLevine couldn’t get more perfect #HandsAllOver #Love_

“I know that these are mostly people who either were big enough fans to pre-order the album and cared enough about Hands All Over to actually put forth the effort to tweet about it,” Adam rambled, “but I...they like it.”

“My followers decidedly find your album not boring,” Blake said, "and my followers make a sizeable nation.”

“That they do,” Adam said. He turned and captured Blake’s lips into his own. “Thanks.”

Blake beamed, tenderly cupping Adam’s cheek. “You know I would do anything for you.”

Adam had to swallow back the sudden onslaught of affection. God, was this what love felt like? Adam skirted around the L-word and emotion in the past—previous boyfriends had not been pleased—but he never experienced this amount of pure, intense want and fondness. Not just physical—even though there was no denying the Adam’s obvious attraction towards Blake—but the country singer was everything Adam never knew he wanted in a partner: exceedingly caring, effortlessly entertaining, genuinely affectionate, terribly earnest... Blake was everything Adam had never dared to dream of.

Adam cracked his neck, ignoring Blake’s slight grimace at the sound. “Come on, Bigfoot. Let’s clean up.”

“Or we can cuddle,” Blake suggesting, wrapping a tempting arm around Adam.

“I’m pretty sure you got cum in my hair,” Adam said. “So I’m showering. With or without you.”

Adam forced himself to roll away from Blake and the mattress, kicking off the twisted, grimy sheets. He may have deliberately swayed his hips when he crossed in front of Blake. He smirked at the immediate mattress squeak. He padded lightly over the tiles, reaching for the shower nozzle when warm hands embraced him. Adam leaned into the touch.

“I suppose I need to make sure you remain successfully distracted,” Blake said.

“So sweet of you,” Adam said, turning and capturing Blake’s mouth once more.

 

_June 2011_

“I vote a drinking game,” Tony said.

“Shot for every time Carson mentions the star coaches?” Adam asked.

“How about when Cee Lo gives his contestants backup dancers?” Rita suggested.

“I’m almost scared of how extravagant his performances will get now that Battles are over,” Raelynn said. “Blake’s rants have made me wary of them and Cee Lo hasn't even done anything yet.”

“I swear Cee Lo has given him PTSD,” Adam said. “The little normalcy Blake possessed is gone. So sad.”

“How about a drink every time Adam mentions Blake?” Patrick suggested.

Adam turned to his teammate. “Blake, Blake, Blake.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, straightening his bowtie. His fedora had yet to make an appearance tonight. Unless the fedora was a phase that bowties took over, which was a phase Adam could totally get behind.

“No one is drinking,” Jermaine said. “They might interview us backstage.”

Adam waved a hand dismissively. “If they do, it’d just be a cutesy thing that we could probably cover by saying some vague shit like ‘we’re rooting for everyone’ or ‘we love The Voice’ or ‘they’re fine because Blake hasn’t tainted them.’ Blanket statements for any Voice-related circumstance.”

“Actually, even without Adam deliberately being a dick, drinking whenever he mentions Blake or vice versa would lead to alcohol poisoning,” Rita said. Patrick snorted.

Adam hid a flush by chugging more beer. He also ignored Rae’s probing eyes. “Blake doesn’t mention me that much. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Notice how Adam didn’t refute the fact he talks about Blake constantly,” Patrick said.

“True,” Rita nodded.

Adam’s flush darkened. “You’re reading too much into things.”

“Not necessarily, lover boy,” Rita said. She and Patrick high-fived, neither one shifting their gaze from Adam.

“When did you two become chummy?”

“A few minutes ago when we actually spoke,” Rita said. “Not quite the Shevine love story...”

“Nothing can beat the Shevine love story,” Tony said.

“It sets the new bar for romance. It's like the new Nicolas Sparks book but better,” Raelynn agreed. She glanced at a scowling Adam. “You guys even trended on Twitter for a bit.”

“I saw that,” Patrick said. “Just imagine how sad the universe would’ve been if I was in the Q&A like planned. They would have lost Shevine fuel.”

“Shevine would still find a way to trend,” Raelynn said.

“You guys need to stop being rude and talking over Chris Mann’s performance,” Adam said, gesturing at a nearby TV. The many computer monitors plastered to the wall during The Voice’s live Q&A had vanished. An impressive feat considering that the Q&A ended four hours ago. “Other people are actually trying to watch.”

“Chris is a dick,” Patrick dismissed instantly. The other contestants also continued talking around them despite Adam’s instruction. Almost as if Adam had no control over them. Rude.

“Don’t you think everyone is a dick?” Raelynn asked, frowning from her heightened perch. It was amazing how well Rae walked around in stilts she passed off as heels.

Adam turned a considering face towards Patrick. “Well, Patrick is a grouchy stick in the mud who hates human interaction unless it involves pain so we have two options: Chris is actually a dick or Chris is the epitome of happiness and cheer. This all depends on Patrick’s definition of a dick.”

“I think you’re a dick,” Patrick said.

“Ah, so he can accurately label dicks,” Jermaine said.

Adam frowned at his tall friend. “I’m not that dickish.”

“The truth hurts,” Jermaine said, patting Adam’s head.

“I feel undermined,” Adam said. “Stop fondling my hair. I don’t rub your bald head for luck.”

“You wouldn’t care if Blake fondled your hair,” Jermaine said.

“This again?” Adam huffed. The other Voice contestants got far too much amusement out of the 'Shevine bromance.' “Blake is a tactile dude. He hugs everyone on the team.”

“We fist bump,” Patrick said.

“You hate people.”

Patrick ignored him. “I’ve seen him give Jermaine one hug—and it was a quick, side hug—and Blake has hugged Raelynn a total of four times in my presence.”

“Rae is very huggable,” Adam said.

“He’s hugged _you_ at least ten times in front on me,” Patrick said, “and I’m not even around you two that much.”

“He has not,” Adam said. “Why would you keep exact count? Creeper.”

“He’s hugged you a lot,” Patrick said. “Just an observation.”

“Well, your bowtie looks very snazzy,” Adam snapped. “Just an observation.”

Patrick blinked, tugging his gleaming bowtie uncertainly. "Thanks?"

Raelynn leaned towards Jermaine. “Are they about to trade aggressive compliments?”

“Nope,” Patrick said.

“And you have very striking cheekbones,” Adam said.

“We’re not doing this,” Patrick said.

“And such fuckable—”

“So what’s the general atmosphere backstage?” Alison Haislip, the backstage host, asked. A challenge sparked in her eyes. She had been trying to find a source of drama in The Voice since the Battles ended and her live, unfiltered interview hit NBC. She was under the impression that said drama would lead to a promotion, which was ridiculous because Carson—as in the producer and one of her bosses—seemed quite content in his main hosting position. That didn’t stop Alison from attempting to catch the contestants on unawares during live television.

“We’re rooting for everyone back here,” Adam said.

“Yeah, we just love The Voice and all the opportunities that came with it,” Raelynn added.

Alison’s fake smile widened to hide her disappointment. Adam wasn’t stupid. He knew that his general lack of filter made him a target of her many live interview attacks. She laughed, turning to the camera.

“There you have it! Such a supportive group of people back here,” Alison said. “Back to you, Carson!”

Adam waited until Thelma lowered the camera and Alison handed off her microphone.

“Also, Patrick has very fuckable lips,” Adam said. “But I assumed such a droll, obvious statement would ruin your interview.”

Alison narrowed her eyes. “You’ll regret egging me on.”

“I told you, you shouldn’t target me,” Adam said. “I have it on good authority I’m a dick.”

“A _nice_ dick,” Raelynn corrected.

Adam fist bumped the blonde. “Thanks, Rae.”

“I’ll get you, Levine,” Alison said. “Just mark my words.”

She turned on her heels and strode out of the lounge. The camerawoman followed after a sheepish shrug sent Adam’s way.

“Did you just get a Disney-esque nemesis?” Tony asked.

“I think so,” Adam said. “Damn, I was holding out for someone more threatening.”

“We can find you one on Craig’s List,” Raelynn reassured.

“What does Alison think she can do to you?” Jermaine asked.

“I don’t know, Heather already watches her like a hawk,” Adam said. “I guess we’ll just wait and see.”

“Guys, shut up, Juliet is on,” Rita said. Everyone, miraculously, turned silent to watch the screen. Juliet sauntered on stage.

Adam studied the quiet contestants and shifted towards Rita. “How do you have this much power?”

“Shush.”

 

_September 2013_

“Adam,” Chelsea greeted as Adam approached the E! red carpet interview. She brushed her black hair behind her ear. “How are you enjoying your first movie premiere?”

Adam laughed. “This entire thing is so surreal. If you told me a year ago I would be in a movie with Mark Ruffalo and Kiera Knightley I would’ve died laughing.”

“I hear that you more than hold your own,” Chelsea said.

“Thanks,” Adam said. “Even though I’m assuming you’re being overly generous.”

“Oh no,” Chelsea said, “I just finished interviewing your co-star, Mark. He said he was jealous how natural you were on camera.”

“I did my best, but I had Kiera in most of my scenes so she helped me relax and perform the script,” Adam said.

“Did you and your actor counterparts ask each other for advice?” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah, Kiera was a doll,” Adam said. “But they neglected to use my musical expertise. They had ‘professional’ music instructors on set for that type of thing. I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”

Chelsea laughed. “They don’t know what they were missing.”

“And the movie suffers because of that,” Adam said dramatically, before grinning. He hated being misquoted. “Just joking, of course. They didn’t need much help, honestly. Kiera was already a trained singer and Mark is a pretty decent bass player. The challenge of Begin Again was that all the music was performed live, so Mark and Kiera had to get all their songs _down_. It’s impressive how often they do consistently great performances, musically and otherwise. I could never do it.”

“But you did do it,” Chelsea reminded. “I love your Lost Stars performance.”

“It’s a great song,” Adam said. “It made me wish I wrote it.”

“So how was filming Begin Again?”

“Begin Again was hectic,” Adam said. “Not to say it wasn’t fun. It was a trip, start to finish.”

“So does this mean you weren’t bitten with the acting bug?”  Chelsea teased.

“I’ll never say no to a new acting opportunity,” Adam said. “It was fun acting in front of a camera. It would depend on if all parties are interested and it fits in Maroon 5’s schedule. But that goes for most things.”

“Does this mean you don’t have anything juicy to offer me?” Chelsea asked.

“Maroon 5’s next album will be recorded soon,” Adam said.

“How soon?”

Adam glanced conspiratorially around the red carpet. He caught a glimpse of his costars—who he still felt starstruck by. He grew comfortable with Kiera during filming, especially since she played his girlfriend, but it had been months since they wrapped. So his awe-resistance had been flushed down the toilet—on either side of the press line.

“ _Soon_.”

“Oh, Adam, you have people eating right out of your palm!” Chelsea laughed. Adam gave a chuckle that hopefully didn't sound too forced. “Thanks for stopping by!”

“It’s always fun,” Adam said, allowing the band’s manager, Jordan, to steer him away from the press line. The Maroon 5 manager was a tad away from his usual duties, but everyone unanimously decided Adam needed a handler at his first movie red carpet.

“You done good,” Jordan murmured.

“I told you I could go on camera without dropping any f-bombs,” Adam said smugly.

“Yes, remind me to give you a treat later,” Jordan said.

“I only accept bacon cheeseburgers, as previously discussed,” Adam said.

Jordan scoffed. “Go make faces at the cameras— _nice_ faces.”

“You ask too much of me, Jordan,” Adam lamented.

Adam strode further down the red carpet, pausing when he reached the swarm of cameras. Paparazzi near the edge instantly focused on Adam, their shouts instensifying. He paused for a few moments, his smile turning genuine as he caught a glance of Cee Lo, who made a small, fantastic cameo in Begin Again, a few yards away.

Adam quickly walked over to him. “Hey, man.”

Cee Lo turned, pulling Adam forward for a one-armed embrace. “How you doing, Adam?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Adam said. “Cee Lo, we’re legit now.”

Cee Lo chuckled. “That, we are. Glad we broke our movie cherries together.”

“And _I’m_ ecstatic that that’s how you described it,” Adam said, turning to pose next to Cee Lo for the screaming mass of flashing cameras. “You staying the whole movie premiere?”

“Fuck yeah, man,” Cee Lo said. “I have to go to the after party. You?”

“Heading out early,” Adam said.

“Ah, just staying to see your parts,” Cee Lo said.

“And yours.”

“Then you have my blessing.”

Adam glanced down at his buzzing phone. “I gotta take this.”

“Call from the missus?”

“Something like that,” Adam said. He patted Cee Lo on the back. “See ya.”

Cee Lo nodded, turning back to the camera flashes.

Adam swiped accept, walking behind the backdrop. The screams reduced drastically. “Hey.”

_“Hey, are you still coming home tonight?”_

“In a couple hours.”

_“Ah, right. I couldn’t remember.”_

“I’m not going to miss your birthday,” Adam teased.

 _“I, ah, didn’t think you_ were _you just have more important—”_

“We’re celebrating it together,” Adam said. “I told you we would.”

_“But that was before your premiere date! And I—wait, Adam, are you on your phone on the red carpet?”_

Adam smirked at his boyfriend’s aghast tone. “Yep.”

_“You can’t do that! Go make nice with people! You know how often Hollywood reporters twist things to make celebrities look like assholes.”_

“All too well,” Adam teased.

_“Hey!”_

Adam chuckled. “You’re too easy to rile up.”

_“You can’t be mean to me on my birthday.”_

“Too true,” Adam said. “I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?”

_“It can’t come quick enough!”_

“That’s what she said.”

_“...Really?”_

Adam cleared his throat. “See you in a couple hours, Gene.”

_"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer: Pharrell  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 ¬ Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> May 2012 – Blake takes Adam hunting  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge 
> 
> So, I've made a change. It's just a minor one, but it's one I debated doing since Chapter 3-ish. So in the May 2015 sections, the coaches are now Gwen and Pharrell instead of Cee Lo and Christina. Sorry Cee Lo and Christina fans! They'll still be in the story, but Gwen and Pharrell are some of my favorite judges (behind Adam and Blake, of course). I honestly had Cee Lo and Christina initially because they were a part of the original four judges. But writing Pharrell as Maroon 5's producer really made me want him in more of the story. I hope you enjoy! I have already edited past chapters so all May 2015 sections now have Gwen and Pharrell.
> 
> Also, enabler LadyArinn was an enabler and helped me decide to change the 2015 coach lineup to include Gwen and Pharrell. Thanks, boo

_May 2015_

“I get why you think Pharrell is the obvious choice,” Adam said, leaned forward in his bright red chair. “Pharrell is amazing. He’s always been amazing. Do you have any idea how helpful and supportive he was with Maroon 5’s first album? The answer: a shit ton. He was our rock. He treats every person with a genuine level of respect that’s rare in the music industry.”

Pharrell smiled at the audience’s clap. “Adam is being modest, as usual. First of all, Hands All Over required little to no tweaking. Second of all, Adam is one of the hardest workers I’ve seen in the music industry. I’m sincerely excited to see him coach. He sees to the big picture, but still fixes the tiny details. Don’t be fooled by his ‘lack of professional’ experience and I use that phrase very loosely. He gained skillsets and background knowledge many musicians don’t realize is even used in their own industry. Adam will be a great coach and his contestants will flourish.”

“And this is why Pharrell is my favorite,” Adam said, turning back to the bushy-haired contestant. “He’s like that with literally everyone. Over everything. He’s great.”

“Are y’all done with your little lovefest?” Blake asked.

“It’s okay, babe, you’re my second favorite,” Adam called down.

Blake shot him an unimpressed look. He shifted his gaze back towards the contestant. “I’ll be honest, these were the damn strangest pitches I’ve ever witnessed. But who do you pick as your coach: Pharrell or Adam?”

The bushy-haired woman bit her lip. “I don’t know... I honestly feel like both of you will be great coaches. I thought all the coaches were just this nice on television but now...”

“You have discovered our incredibly sappy side,” Gwen said.

“Made even sappier by my boytoy down there,” Blake said. Adam waved cheerfully, not taking his eyes off the contestant.

“Pick who your heart tells you to,” Pharrell said. “We want you to pick the best fit for you. Our feelings don’t matter.”

She released a shaky breath into the microphone. “I pick Pharrell.”

The audience cheered while Pharrell—as usual—smiled in pleasant surprise that he was actually picked as coach. Adam doubted Pharrell would ever come to terms how sought after he was.

“What happened to you pitch?” Blake asked as the contestant left the stage.

“I have no idea,” Adam said. “I had a planned ‘but’ statement, but Pharrell distracted me.”

“You’re just lucky Pharrell is a nice enough guy to pitch for you after you pitched for him,” Blake said.

“I tell the truth,” Pharrell said. “I didn’t want Adam to undermine his own coaching potential.”

Adam gestured wildly at Pharrell. “See? I can’t help it. I like Pharrell too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Pharrell said.

“Don’t be an ass, you delightful human being,” Adam said. He groaned. “I can’t even insult him. Blake, I was wrong. I thought you would be my biggest competition. It’s Pharrell. I am physically incapable of fighting against him.”

“That makes one of us," Blake said. "I'll think about your predicament whenever I need a nice, long laugh."

“That’s because you’re heartless,” Adam said. “Shit, it’s just...Pharrell says something and it makes _me_ want to pick him as a coach. I can’t help it.”

“You’ll grow a thick skin eventually,” Gwen said soothingly. “Then his charm will bounce right off you. It just takes a little over a decade.”

“You’re not immune to his charms,” Adam said to the blonde accusingly.

She shrugged. “I’m not, but I wanted you to feel better.”

“Why is everyone—minus Blake because obviously—” Adam said.

“Obviously,” Blake nodded, sipping out of his cup.

“Just so...sweet?” Adam asked. “I’ll get cavities.”

“That’s okay, you and Blake give me smile headaches,” Gwen said.

“You two are hilarious,” Pharrell agreed.

“I feel like this is a pity offering,” Adam said, “because I’ll never beat Pharrell.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’d pick you as a coach over Pharrell,” Blake said.

Adam smiled. “I’d probably pick Pharrell over you. Sorry, babe.”

“Yeah, Pharrell would definitely be my coach,” Gwen agreed.

“Wow, just a bag of chopped livers over here,” Blake said. “Don’t mind me.”

“You had to learn your place on the totem pole,” Adam said. “The best relationships are founded on truth and all that.”

Pharrell opened his mouth.

“Not now, Pharrell,” Adam said. “I am emotionally unprepared for your voice right now.”

 

 _July 2012_         

Blake pretended that Carson cornering him in his trailer had everything to do with his borderline explicit comments during the live show and nothing to do with his current state of moping. Judging by Carson’s concerned expression, it was unfortunately the latter. Damn, Blake thought he covered it up better.

“Hey, Carson,” Blake said. “Are you double-dutying as host and therapist? I think you need a pay raise.”

“So you admit there’s something wrong?” Carson asked, a bit eagerly. The country star hid a grimace. Alright, maybe not his brightest way to start a conversation.

“I’m just going off your troubled, do-I-gotta-put-down-the-dog expression,” Blake said.

“I’m ‘troubled’ because you’re clearly upset about something,” Carson said. “I thought you were having a rough couple days. But those days turned into weeks. Come on, Blake, what’s up? Is it the show?”

Blake sighed. His pining really wasn’t helping his team. Or the show’s banter—which the producers fretted about since Usher announced his break from The Voice. Honestly, Blake didn’t mean to let his personal life affect The Voice. But ever since a certain rocker left for his—sold out, Jesus Christ—tour, Blake had become more and more aware of how empty his LA house was. And Frankie’s presence only made Blake miss his boyfriend that much more.

Damn, Blake hadn’t moped during a long distance relationship for a long time. Usually phone calls and Skype messages were enough to tide the country singer whenever he and his past boyfriends were seperated. But nothing seemed enough with Adam.

Blake wanted to be with Adam. Then it'd be like his 2011 tour except he and Adam would steal kisses and unsubtly share a tour bus the entire time. Blake missed the constant buzz of energy Adam carried with him. Blake didn’t realize how much he relied on a smartass comment or just the frontman's mere presence to rejuvenate him during the day. And Blake had a permanent cold patch where Adam usually cuddled against him or sprawled on his lap.

Christ, Blake had it bad.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. 

“Yeah, your complete silence is somehow not reassuring,” the host said.

Blake blinked before hesitating. Carson would understand if Blake said he missed his significant other. Sure, he would mock him for a bit. But Carson would definitely understand—there were multiple occasions when Carson obviously longed for the comforts of his home and wife after a particularly trying day at the studio.  Of course, that would inevitably lead to questions about just _who_ the person who turned Blake into a useless pile of goop was.

The country singer swallowed. Now wasn’t the time to spring his sexuality on the man. He clamped down on the instinctive **—** irrational—thrill of panic. Not with no warning. And especially since Carson had no inkling he and Adam were in a relationship. Or course, why would he? Blake never even hinted that he was gay. Blake studied Carson. He would probably accept Blake. Most likely. Maybe. But Blake’s past experiences still made him wary to broach the subject.

Carson had no problems with gay people. Of course, those people hadn’t befriended and promptly hid their sexuality from him for over a year. Blake pursed his lips. Every decision had a backlash.

“Blake, seriously you’re freaking me out,” Carson said. 

“I’m fine, Carson,” Blake said. “I’ve just been distracted. I’m taking a long weekend after tonight’s show. It should get my head straight.”

Carson looked thoroughly unconvinced. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do...”

“Nah, Carson,” Blake said. “I just need a short break—kinda like a power nap—to invigorate me before the final few shows.”

“What about your team?” Carson asked.

“Mercy, Humphrey, Chad, and Travis will understand,” Blake said. “They probably want me gone in all honesty. Besides, they have me on speed dial if they want me.”

“If you’re sure this is what you need...”

“Trust me,” Blake said, his phone heavy with Jesse’s text messages. “This is _exactly_ what I need.”

_June 2011_

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Adam’s rapid approach. His ghost of a smile—as in the barest of quirked lips—towards the cameras didn’t flicker.

“You were right,” Adam hissed, widening his press smile—Jesus Christ, he had a _press smile_ now—at the nearby paparazzi. Less than a dozen paps floated around The Voice’s red carpet. Blake warned that they would be thick as thieves in a few weeks. Which was insane because even this relative small number made Adam go wide-eyed and anxious.

“I’m rarely wrong,” Patrick said, straightening his bowtie.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Chris Mann is a dick. Like an actual dick.”

“I have impeccable character judgements.”

“You barely pay attention to your surroundings,” Adam dismissed.

“And yet Chris Mann the Dick remains rightfully titled,” Patrick said. “Funny how that works out.”

Both contestants turned back at a yell from one of the paparazzi.

“I believe that’s our cue to pose together,” Adam said. “Like an awkward prom picture.”

“Yeah, let’s not,” Patrick said.

“Raelynn would do it,” Adam said, “and Jermaine would too. So would Tony, Julia, Blake—”

Patrick snorted. “Blake would let you get away with murder.”

“Your murder, do you think?” Adam asked, ignoring Patrick’s scoffing tone. He was not Blake’s favorite, despite Patrick’s continuous declarations. Blake acted like an idiot like with everybody. “Of course, they might not be able to identify the corpse minus the fedora.”

Patrick tousled his blond hair. “I might have to go back to it. Being an unidentified body sounds tedious.”

“Wear a top hat,” Adam said. “You’ll look like less of a douche postmortem.”

“A top hat is the definition of douche,” Patrick said.

“A top hat is _swanky_ ,” Adam corrected.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like I’m going to actually take your fashion advice seriously.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Patrick’s eyes drifted down to Adam’s shirt. The brunette glowered. “Absolutely nothing. So what made you declare Chris a dick?”

“He’s so condescending,” Adam said. “And he actually shit-talked Raelynn— _Raelynn._ ”

Patrick raised both eyebrows. “In front of you? I assumed he was at least halfway intelligent.”

“Me _and_ Jermaine,” Adam said, “who is still in the midst of chewing Chris out.”

“Eh, I was never too attached to him,” Patrick said. “I’m sure Chris’ death will be quick. Or not. Whatever.”

“I think Chris wants to fuck you,” Adam said.

Patrick actually paused, turning to fully study Adam. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“Deadly serious,” Adam said. “He’s attracted to your fedora-free hair.”

“I’ll just offer you a blowjob again in front of him,” Patrick shrugged, turning back to the few snapping cameras. Adam was content to pose for eternity if it meant he could avoid interviews.

“I’ll tell Chris it’s just a ‘bro-job,’ ” Adam said. “He’ll actually go for that.”

Patrick wrinkled his nose. “God, he would. He’s the type.”

“He’s never ready for the hard truth.”

“At least he’s perky.”

“And the ideal size.”

A pointed cough makes Adam turn sheepishly to Carson. Patrick continued staring at the paparazzi in a distinctly unhostile manner.

“Don’t forget to interview, boys,” Carson said. “You can’t just stand around.”

“Patrick is barely managing to act like he cares just posing for pictures,” Adam said. “Unleashing him onto an unsuspecting interviewer will tarnish The Voice’s reputation.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Carson said, “considering Patrick has been interviewed more than you.”

“Has not.”

“I’ve been to more red carpets,” Patrick said, “because you keep avoiding them.”

“I have shit to do,” Adam said. So he may have conveniently been busy during previous red carpets—the carpets weren’t even _red_ —and any potential interviews. Unless he was performing, cameras were foreign and to be avoided at all costs. God, the amount of times Adam’s foot landed squarely in his mouth or he blurted whatever asinine thought floating around in his head were countless. So he took the initiative to be mysteriously absent post-show. Honestly, the only reason he attended this red carpet was because Blake cornered him after the live eliminations and bullied him out here.

“And now that shit is to be interviewed,” Carson said. “I am completely willing to act like your handler and force you in front of every camera. Now go interview with Nikki. She won’t ask you anything too personal.”

Adam followed Carson’s nod to a dark-haired woman in a gray business suit. She chatted to her cameraman, as she was one of the few cameras stations without an interviewee. He couldn’t quite cover his grimace.

“You have cameras on you all the time during The Voice,” Patrick said. “Why are you being weird about this?”

“The Voice is different,” Adam said. At least Heather guaranteed he wouldn’t look like a complete idiot during his Voice interviews and performances. She had a reputation to uphold too. Also, if he wasn’t performing, he generally had the company of other contestants or Blake to deflect to or rely on. Red carpet interviews were solo. Not that Adam was shy but the prospect of solo interviews unnerved him.

“Just be your usual obnoxious self and you’ll be fine,” Patrick said. “You’re annoyingly charming.”

“I knew I’d woo you over,” Adam said absently. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Maybe tone back your usual self,” Carson interjected. Adam snorted. Clearly, the Twitter Q&A officially labeled him as untrustworthy. He eyed Nikki’s station. Maybe if he willed it hard enough then a contestant would magically appear in front of her camera. If he delayed enough, eventually the red carpet interviews would be over.

Adam’s eyes brightened as Blake sauntered in front of the interviewer next to Nikki. “No faith, Carson. I’m leaving. No need to worry.”

“I doubt heading towards Blake will make Carson have less of an aneurism,” Patrick said.

Carson’s response was lost in the buzz of interviews and paparazzi. Adam widened his grin at Nikki. She promptly grabbed her microphone and positioned herself in front of the camera. She smiled toothily back at him.

“Adam, welcome to The Buzz,” Nikki greeted. “Glad you’re finally on the carpet. We’ve been missing you.”

Adam shrugged sheepishly and aimed for a disarming smile. His face probably contorted into something very different and awkward. “Well, better late than never.”

“So what did you think of tonight’s show?” Nikki asked.

“I’m relieved Julia is safe,” Adam said. Shit wait. They weren’t supposed to play sides like that, right? Heather and Carson lectured all the contestants before their first red carpet—which Adam promptly avoided—to censor what they say. The Voice didn’t want to cause anything even relating to a scandal. Not that siding with Julia was a terrible advocacy on Adam’s part, but Carson advised them to always give neutral answers. “I mean...eliminations are always nerve-wracking even when you’re not involved. Everyone who’s eliminated from this show is insanely talented. So it’s sad to see them go.”

Except for like four people in the initial rounds from Team Blake, but details.

“And you’re performing next week during the instant eliminations,” Nikki said. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Adam said. His heart quickened. He would rather be on stage prepared to sing an impromptu song then in front of the cameras now. What did he do with his hands? Performing was so much easier because Adam at least knew how to act. “I’m trying not to think about it, honestly.”

“Can we have any hints about your next performance?” Nikki asked lightly.

Adam’s mouth dried. Should he deflect with humor or no? Any joke attempt would probably flop. He had zero faith in his ability to say anything vaguely humorous. He shifted his gaze from the camera back to Nikki, whose smile twinged sympathetically. How obvious were his nerves? A sudden, familiar arm nudged him to the side. He blinked as Blake joined his interview, tossing Adam a grin.

“As his dictator coach and superior in every way,” Blake said. “I have forbidden him to even hint about his song choice.”

Adam snorted, feeling the tension in his shoulders ebb. “Except that it’s awesome and everyone should vote for me?”

“See the blatant disrespect I get?” Blake asked Nikki. The interviewer’s smile widened. “He can’t follow one simple order...”

“Sorry, Bigfoot,” Adam said unapologetically. His previous stiffness melted away. Blake, he was used to. Blake, Adam knew how to deal with.

“I feel like he doesn’t value me as a person,” Blake told Nikki. “He takes me for granted. Honestly, all the abuse I get—”

Adam grasped both of Blake’s hands, startling his coach enough that he actually clamped his mouth shut.  Adam stifled a smirk as he widened his eyes. “How can you say that? You have bewitched me, body and soul.”

Blake frowned. “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice at me?”

“Just proving to America that you’re literate,” Adam said, releasing his hands. “You’re welcome.”

Nikki giggled, eyes darting between the duo. “So what _do_ you think of your coach?”

“He has his perks, I suppose,” Adam said.

“Dimples,” Blake said sagely.

“Money,” Adam continued.

“Plus he uses me to reach things off the top shelf.”

Adam rolled his eyes at Blake’s smug smile. “I could do better though.”

“As could I,” Blake said, “but we’re stuck with each other at the moment.”

“Yeah, Blake and Usher tried to swap me and Rita, but Heather said no,” Adam said. “Rita is amused by Blake for unknown reasons.”

“The trade didn’t go through because Usher has taste, unfortunately,” Blake said. “No one wants to deal with Adam.”

Adam threw Blake an unimpressed look. The country singer smiled widely.

“Aww does this mean the bromance is over?” Nikki cooed.

Blake chuckled as Adam scrunched his face. “He doesn’t like the word ‘bromance.’ He’s a diva that way.”

“Fuck off, Shelton,” Adam said with no heat. “Just bros, no ‘mance.’ It’s really not a hard concept.”

“You can’t swear on camera,” Blake said.

Adam stared at his coach. “Shit.”

Blake shook his head, but his dumb smile already covered his face. “Incorrigible.”

“Adam, what would you do if you were a judge on The Voice?” Nikki asked.

“Sabotage Blake,” Adam said, immediately. “Always.”

 

_May 2012_

The wind whistled through the forest, offering little relief from the sun’s looming heat. Birds chirped and water even trickled idyllically in the distance. It was a picturesque scene. Almost postcard-worthy. Of course, Adam would appreciate it more if he hadn’t been hunched over in a tiny hunting tree stand for the past hour. Blake insisted they couldn’t talk or else they would scare away the game. So Adam sulked for the past forty minutes. A cramp twinged in his calf. The rustling leaves nearly masked his sigh.

Adam squirmed restlessly, wiping his sweaty forehead. He eyed his boyfriend who squatted next to him, his large frame making the tiny hunting stand even smaller. Why they needed to be in a tree to hunt, Adam had no idea. He just put on the obligatory camo hunting jacket—which he quickly questioned the necessity of since its purpose was instantly negated by a neon orange vest—grabbed his shotgun, and followed Blake into the wilds of Oklahoma.

Which made Blake scoff and mock Adam for being a city boy as soon as he called it that.

Back when Blake allowed Adam to talk.

But now Adam just fidgeted next to him while Blake kept binoculars plastered to his face while he vigorously scanned the forest below. Blake deemed Adam ready to hunt after his two shooting lessons, both of which ended with grabby hands from a certain Okie. Blake had a gun kink—specifically, Adam with a gun—that he was more than willing to exploit.

Adam knew since before Blake got him a gun for Christmas that he would go hunting with the country singer. Besides the fact that Blake unfairly unleashed his big blue eyes on him, Adam would never say no to one of his favorite pastimes. Of course, these long periods of waiting made Adam wary of future hunting trips. The frontman shot once forty minutes ago and promptly received a stern lecture from Blake. Which was exactly as fun as it sounded.

A crunch made Adam jerk and squint into the forest. God, please let that be a turkey. Or a squirrel. Adam would shoot anything right now. Anything to break the monotony.

Sadly, nothing appeared.

Adam sighed again. He instantly regretted it when Blake lowered his binoculars. His blue eyes studied Adam timidly.

“Getting bored?”

“Nah,” Adam said. Too casually. Blake raised an eyebrow at him. Damn it. He knew he should have hid his boredom better.

“You don’t have to lie,” Blake said. “I know this isn’t your usual thing.”

“It’s just the waiting,” Adam said in a rush. “I’m impatient. You know I’m totally for shooting guns—I am practically an expert now. The waiting in quiet and not moving is not my natural state.”

Adam’s hesitant gaze to Blake’s face revealed a smiling boyfriend.

“You require so much attention,” Blake teased.

“Do not,” Adam protested mildly.

Blake shifted so his side pressed against Adam. “I should have anticipated this. You’re quite the social butterfly.”

“Am not.”

“Okay, darlin’,” Blake said, rubbing Adam’s arm.

“I just want to spend time with my fantastic boyfriend before Maroon 5 goes on tour and you run back to LA to film The Voice,” Adam said. “We won’t be able to spend nearly as much time together.”

“You just had to put a damper on things,” Blake tsked. “I blame your innate flair for dramatics.”

“I am not dramatic,” Adam said. “You’re accusatory.”

“You say dramatically.”

“I literally said that normally,” Adam said. “Stop being weird.”

“Your shouting will scare away the woodland creatures,” Blake warned.

Adam scowled. “I’ll _make_ the woodland creatures avoid this stand like the plague.”

“Then we’ll never get back home,” Blake said. “I refuse to lead you back until you shoot at least one thing.”

“Tyrant.”

“Which requires silence,” Blake said.

“I can be silent,” Adam said.

“I’m sure you can,” Blake said.

“I can! Stop with the condescension.”

“I have nothing but faith in you,” Blake reassured.

“Hand me the binoculars,” Adam said. Blake passed them in amusement, which Adam pointedly ignored. “I can do this without you.”

“Of course, darlin’.”

Adam peered into the forest, slowly scanning the foliage. Fuck knows what he was looking for, but confidently faking something was his forte. Adam leaned forward—pretending to see something? Sure, why not—but he didn’t shift too far away from Blake’s comfortable mass, despite the blazing heat from the sun.

If the animals could nicely wander into the open right now that would be great. Followed by Adam nonchalantly shooting something through the head. And then an overwhelmed Blake taking him back to his ranch immediately and have sex against a wall. Adam had important plans that needed to be initiated.

Sadly, nothing appeared. Oh well, Adam could fantasize.

“How’s it going?” Blake asked after a moment.

“No talking,” Adam reprimanded. “You’ll scare away Bambi.”

“We’re hunting turkeys,” Blake said.

“Not if your yapping scares them off.”

He imagined Blake shaking his head. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Adam lowered the binoculars. Yep, Blake was shaking his head. But the faint smile on his face held back any minor twinges of guilt.

“It’s not as fun being the one without the binoculars, is it?” Adam asked.

“I suppose the waiting around and twiddling your thumbs position doesn’t have as many perks as expected,” Blake said.

“Really? Because that job sounds so riveting,” Adam said. “You get to sit quietly, not talking...silently.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Blake said.

Adam rocked back on his heels. “You’re so astute. Really. I think you’re the next Einstein.”

“Why are you so mean?” Blake pouted. Adam just stared. “You’re emotionally abusive.”

“The amount of time it takes you to go from a grown man to a sulky child is ridiculously short,” Adam said. “I don’t understand.”

“Emotionally abusive! I’m telling Jesse or Matt,” Blake said. “They’ll take pity on me.”

“I can easily turn them against you,” Adam said.

“Yeah,” Blake murmured, a bit of levity leaving his voice. Adam mentally berated himself. The days of his bandmates treating Blake with the third degree had long passed—thank God. His bandmates definitely accepted Blake as the semi-permanent fixture now. But Adam knew that there was still a faint degree of wariness. Especially from James.

“Course, Matt is officially comfortable with the guys and would most definitely call me out on my bullshit,” Adam said. “If someone else doesn’t first.”

A genuine edge filled Blake’s smile. “Good. Someone needs to keep your shit talking in line when I’m not around.”

“It’s like you don’t even want me to have fun,” Adam said. “Talking shit about people behind their back is my favorite pastime. How could you forget?”

“It’s my main source of entertainment,” Blake said.

“Is that all I am to you? An entertaining spectacle?”

Blake pursed his lips, bringing up his free hand to stroke his chin. “Yes.”

“Ass.”

“I have a nice one, I know,” Blake said. “Speaking of using you—”

“A solid start to any conversation,” Adam said.

“You should get me a Maroon 5 shirt before you leave. I need a shirt for Blinds.”

“Dude, you have to wear the same shirt the entire time you film,” Adam said. “I don’t think I should do that to you. We don’t even have an official tour shirt yet.”

“Can’t you do me this one favor, _bro_?”

Adam scrunched his face. “God, please don’t use ‘bro’ again.”

Blake had the gall to look offended. “But, brah.”

“Stop. You’re not funny.”

Blake’s smirk quickly turned conniving. “Just a shirt will make this go away, broski.”

Adam shifted so he could stare at Blake full on. The country singer was unreasonably pleased with himself.

“We won’t have a tour shirt before Blinds start.”

“But how else am I supposed to unsubtly brag about how you were on my team last season?” Blake asked. “Dude?”

“Oh my God I will _make_ you a shirt,” Adam said. “Just stop talking like that, Jesus Christ.”

“ _You_ talk like that all the time,” Blake said, sounding faintly miffed.

“I don’t sound like a southern grandpa badly relating to his estranged teenage grandchildren,” Adam said.

“I suppose I don’t need to try and act cool anymore,” Blake mused. “Not this season at least.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it?”

“I knew Usher not coming back for season 3 would work in my advantage,” Blake said, taking the binoculars from Adam’s unresisting grip.

“I would say you might be able to win now,” Adam said, “but if you couldn’t win with me then there’s no hope. I’m the whole package. Viewers loved me.”

“Maybe they thought you were too cocky,” Blake said.

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Adam dismissed. “Even though I suppose my legacy has paved the way for some brighter new talents on the show. You’re welcome.”

“Hence why I need the shirt,” Blake said. “As a reminder of said legacy.”

“Maybe I should give Pharrell a shirt too,” Adam mused. “He _did_ produce our album. Plus he’s the new coach this season. He needs all the help he can get.”

“I still can’t believe you convinced him to sign on,” Blake said.

“I didn’t,” Adam disputed.

Blake just gave him a look before returning his gaze to the forest below.

“I just told Pharrell he should coach because he’s awesome, but he refused. So I texted Heather and Carson and told them that Pharrell should be a coach because he’s awesome and they agreed,” Adam rambled. “So Carson and Pharrell chatted, Carson agreed that Pharrell is awesome, and bribed him to join the show by telling him how many artists he could help. I was barely involved.”

“Pharrell is such a nice, soft-spoken guy. And he’s done so much...” Blake said. Adam snapped up to focus on his self-deprecating expression. “He’ll easily steal artists from me. Not that I blame them.”

“I don’t see how you always think you’re out of your depth with non-country artists or that you’re inferior in any way,” Adam said. “Don't forget how much you helped me with _everything_ during and after The Voice. You make yourself available to your team. You _want_ them to succeed—and trust me, that’s apparent even during your spiel when they’re on stage. You’re the literal most supportive guy on the planet. Plus your southern accent makes you more trustworthy. Artists will flock to you.”

Only the rustling leaves and occasional chirping bird responded. Adam glanced sideways, blinking at Blake’s tender face, his blue eyes impossibly warm. The country singer only smiled when Adam fugitively glanced away and back again before raising an eyebrow at his unwavering gaze.

“What? Stop staring,” Adam said.

Blake’s dopey expression didn’t change.

“Stop,” Adam said. “Use words. What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Blake said immediately.

Adam huffed, pretending he didn’t find Blake’s sincere cheesiness as endearing as he did. “That’s the gayest thing that came out of your mouth since my dick.”

Blake snorted. “ _Such_ a romantic. Oh how our relationship would suffer without your passion.”

“I’m more romantic than you,” Adam said. “So what does that say about you, babe?”

“At least you’re here to—Adam, turkey, 11 o’clock,” Blake said. Adam stiffened, whipping around in the small stand. A clueless, plump turkey crept in the small clearing in front of them. Adam had a clear shot. The turkey ruffled its speckled feathers, clucking mindlessly. He swallowed, raising his shotgun. This was just like at the range. It was just a target, just a target.

“Remember, what I told you,” Blake whispered. “Deep breathes, line the shot, relax. You got this, darlin’...”

Adam released a deep breath. A shot echoed through the forest, the kick not hurting as much as it did during his first shooting lesson. A flock of birds loudly squawked as they fluttered away from the echoing crack. He lowered his shotgun. Did it hit? Adam was reluctant to look the thirty feet in front of them.

“You got him!” Blake exclaimed. The country singer squeezed Adam into his side, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “I can’t believe you actually _hit_ something out here.”

Adam grinned, a weird mix of relief and regret filling him. “I had an incompetent teacher, but I made the best of a bad situation.”

Adam’s snide comment rolled right off the country singer. Blake’s lips captured Adam’s briefly. “I’m sure he was terrible.”

“But he was hot so I let it slide,” Adam said, relaxing into Blake. His excitement was addicting.

“Hot for teacher?”

Adam simply widened his smirk, tucking his shotgun against his shoulder. Blake’s eyes gleamed intently on the weapon before staring darkly back at Adam. He was such a hick sometimes...

“Come on, let’s go bag the duck,” Adam said, reaching for the stand’s ladder.

“Turkey.”

“Whatever.”

 

_June 2011_

“You put down a bet? _Why_?” Adam asked

James shrugged, looking unapologetic as he examined two loaves of bread. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll lose money,” Adam said.

James shifted his gaze away from the bread to glare at Adam.

The brunette huffed. “Probably.”

James finally placed one loaf into their shopping cart. “I get most of the money back if you make it into the final four. Even more if you're in the top two.”

“You just lose a sizeable fraction if I don’t win the entire thing,” Adam said. “Yes, clearly the best bet you could have possible made.”

“I have faith in you,” James said easily.

“You’re irresponsible with money,” Adam said.  “You’re just trying to validate yourself for forcing me onto this show.”

“There’s no way you’re still peeved about that,” James said, gesturing for Adam to turn down the next aisle.

“Of course, I’m not peeved, Jamison,” Adam said. “But that’s not the point. The point is you’re trying to profit off it.”

“I had to place a bet,” James said. “The odds were too good.”

“The odds were probably too good because the guys at work knew you were coming and would bet on me on principle."

“Maybe...” James said sheepishly.

“You got conned,” Adam said. “How much money did you put down?”

James bit his lips, studying the brands of chips like he would get something other than Cheetos.

Adam groaned. “Really? That much? You’re an idiot.”

“Just don’t fuck up,” James said.

“Really? That’s your fu—hey,” Adam said, cutting himself off awkwardly. James stared down at the little girl with equal astonishment. The little girl—no older than seven—looked back with unblinking, green eyes. The guitarist shrugged at Adam’s frown. He glanced up and down the deserted aisle. “So, uh, where are your parents?”

The little girl shrugged. “Montana.”

Adam blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “They left Monday.”

“Wha—who are you here with?” Adam asked.

The little girl shrugged.

“What’s your name?” James asked.

“Bonnie,” the girl said shortly.

“Bonnie, who did you come with?”

Bonnie shook her head. “You have girl hair.”

“James does,” Adam said. “So are you here with a grandparent or sibling or...?”

She shook her head, green eyes dancing. Clearly under the impression that they were playing a guessing game she was winning.

“I’ll let you cut James’ hair if you tell me,” Adam bargained. Bonnie gasped.

“Hey,” James protested.

“Sacrifices have to be made,” Adam said. “So...”

“I’m here with my sister, Harley,” Bonnie said. “I know where she is. Follow me.”

Bonnie clung to Adam, tugging him forward. “Coming, James? Your services will be needed later.”

“I’m not cutting my hair,” James muttered.

“Grab your Cheetos and follow,” Adam said. The guitarist grumbled but complied. Bonnie took a sharp right, leading Adam straight to a frantic teenager who was searching under the produce tables.

“Bonnie!” Harley exclaimed, torn between anger and relief. “You can’t just wander off like that. You almost gave me—oh my God. Are you Adam Levine?”

Bonnie let go of Adam’s hand to skip over to her flabbergasted sister. “I found him.”

“Um...yeah,” Adam said, staring at the smug seven-year-old with newfound suspicion. He always got distracted by little kids’ adorable faces and forgot that some little kids were mischievous little shits that shouldn’t be trusted. He couldn’t bring himself to be too bothered by Bonnie’s apparent scheming, however.

“She really likes you,” Bonnie said. “She doesn’t let me watch SpongeBob when The Voice is on. Or scream. Or move.”

Color drained out of Harley’s face. James coughed loudly behind him.

“I, uh, just—” Harley stammered.

“She wants to marry you,” Bonnie said matter-of-factly.

“I do _not_. Shut up,” Harley said.

Bonnie sniffed primly. “I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

“Don’t be a brat,” Harley hissed.

“You lost me in a grocery store,” Bonnie scowled.

“You ran away!”

Adam awkwardly glanced at James, who steadily inched further away from the screaming siblings. Dick. But a dick whose instincts were incredibly on point.

“Uh...well my friend and I need to finish grocery shopping so...” Adam said.

Harley immediately jerked away from Bonnie. “Can I get a picture with you? Or is that weird?”

Adam blinked, feeling his face heat up. He knew people asking for photos was a thing but never from _him_. Paparazzi took pictures of everything. But Harley...she was a genuine fan of his.  That fact left him floundering. He swallowed, realizing that his stretching silence made Harley’s eyes steadily grow wider.

“Sure,” Adam said, forcing a smile. “James, make yourself useful.”

Harley grinned, abandoning her cart to walk over to Adam. “Come on, Bonnie. Smile nicely.”

“I always smile nicely,” Bonnie said, wandering to Adam’s other side. She gripped his hand, smiling at the phone Harley gave James.

“I’m sure you do,” Adam said. Harley returned to his side. They all posed, ignoring the frowning bystanders. Should he put an arm around Harley’s shoulders? Or was that creepy? How do people even pose for these pictures? Adam felt stiff and awkward. He just hoped that his discomfort didn’t show.

“Thank you so much,” Harley said quickly, turning to Adam. Her badly hidden excitement was incredibly endearing. Adam felt his own awkward smile shift to something more genuine. “I don’t mean to be creepy, but I just really support you. Everything you sing is beautiful. You’re my favorite on Blake’s Team.”

“I’m not your favorite overall?” Adam teased, making the teen gape.

Bonnie giggled at Harley’s instant horrified expression.

“Just kidding,” Adam said. He patted her shoulder, hoping to come across apologetic or friendly. Harley’s face remained the same stunned expression that appeared when Adam first approached with Bonnie. “Trust me. I know firsthand how amazing some of these people are.”

Harley let out a short, loud laugh. Then looked disturbed by herself. “Thanks for stopping by, Adam.”

“Thanks for watching, Harley,” Adam said. “Have fun with Bonnie.”

He waved at the dazed Harley and unflappable Bonnie as he tugged James away from the produce section. Jesus, he had fans. He had actual fans. When did that happen? Adam’s dreams of being a person people actually stopped in public for a picture vanished after he hit his early twenties. But now...

Adam longed for people to support him like Harley even after he left The Voice. He didn’t want this to be his five seconds of fame. Harley was so genuine and excited to meet him. He selfishly wanted his Harleys of the world to exist pass the next month when the buzz of The Voice faded.

“Look at you being famous,” James said.

Adam snapped out of his revere. “Shut up. Don’t think that she distracted me from your poor decision-making skills. You’re just lucky Bonnie forgot to cut your hair.”

_July 2012_

Blake paced in Adam’s dressing room. Jesse and Matt smuggled him in here roughly fifteen minutes ago. Blake wasn’t sure how successful they were in hiding a 6’5” country singer but Jesse insisted that James and Mickey were distracting Adam.

The Maroon 5 tour was more hectic than Blake expected. Of course, Adam declined Hank’s offer—really, Blake’s offer to loan out his manager—in favor of Maroon 5’s recently acquired one, Jordan Feldstein. Jordan and Adam were still learning, but Blake would bet decent money that the tour’s crew would smoothly operate like a well-oiled machine in a week or so.

Blake plopped onto Adam’s couch with a huff. Jesse was supposed to direct Adam here as soon as he dropped off Blake. He bit back a sigh, picking up a discarded People’s magazine. He flipped to a page that was dog-eared. He snorted. The page speculated on new, “incriminating” evidence of Blake and Miranda’s secret relationship. Adam got more a kick out of the media’s coverage on Blake than Endy, and his sister’s texts mostly consisted of unflattering pictures and headlines. God, Adam and Endy would be a devastating force once they met.

He tossed aside the magazine. Adam’s dressing room was impersonal save for various items scattered across table. Blake picked up Adam’s discarded LA hoodie. He surreptitiously glanced around the deserted dressing room before raising the navy blue hoodie to his nose. He breathed in deeply. The hoodie smelled deliciously like Adam and the cologne that Blake constantly mocked him for but not-so-secretly loved.

God, Blake missed his boyfriend. Skype calls and texting were not the same. He and Adam used to call at least daily the first week on his tour. But both were busy men and those calls became less frequent and shorter, especially when the Hands All Over Tour began making longer night treks to the next tour destination. Maroon 5’s tour was ambitious. The stadiums they reserved were fairly large and they often had to reach their next venue by the next day. However, Maroon 5’s tour incredibly—delightfully—sold out within a couple weeks.

Adam had been shocked by the news and Blake made it his personal duty to ensure Adam didn’t continuously pinch himself during those first 24 hours. Blake then tagged along to Maroon 5’s celebratory weekend—those few nights were more intense than expected so he convinced Adam to stay home one day so Blake could recuperate. With the impending tour date, Adam had varied between vibrating with excitement and shaking with nerves. It made Blake hesitant on how to treat Adam since both looked fairly similar. But he quickly caught onto the telltale signs and, when in doubt, he distracted Adam with sex, which the frontman enthusiastically accepted no matter what mood he was in.

Blake perked up the door twisted open, quickly standing by the couch.

“—I didn’t forget anything in here,” Adam continued, talking over his shoulder at Jesse. “I don't care that—Blake!”

“Hey, darlin’,” Blake said, catching Adam as his boyfriend bodily threw himself at him. Adam wiggled until his arms wrapped tightly around Blake. The country singer ducked his head down into the crook of his neck. He nuzzled Adam softly, hands sliding down the familiar crevices of his body. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing now that Adam was finally in his arms. The soft click as Jesse closed the dressing room’s door shut went largely ignored by both.

“When did you get here?” Adam asked. The question came out partially muffled since he pressed tightly against Blake. Blake allowed himself a small smile. Clearly, the longing was mutual.

“Twenty minutes ago,” Blake said. “Roughly.”

Adam beamed up at Blake. Blake’s answering smile was impossible to repress. “I just assumed that with The Voice and us touring—”

“Luckily I have an informant,” Blake said, backing until he hit the couch. He brought Adam down with him. The frontman easily curled around him.

“Jesse is a good informant,” Adam agreed.

“And your absence,” Blake said, leaning over so his lips wandered across Adam’s open face, “made me almost entirely useless to my team.”

Adam shifted so his lips captured Blake’s. “I would apologize but seeing that it brought you here...”

“Yeah, I can tell you’re heartbroken.”

“I missed my boyfriend,” Adam said. “Sue me.”

“I suppose I missed you too,” Blake said.

“Yeah, you only flew 6 hours to visit me for... How long will you be here?” Adam asked.

Blake pulled Adam closer to him, not liking the slight frown that diminished his boyfriend’s grin. “Just today and tomorrow. I’m flying back to LA once you pack up and drive to Cincinnati. Which my informant tells me will be tomorrow afternoon.”

“Eh, we could probably leave a bit later,” Adam said. “Jordan can’t maim me too badly. I am the face of this band.”

“Now you’re just abusing you power,” Blake said.

“You like it.”

“Your assertiveness is one of the many qualities I admire about you,” Blake said.

Adam shifted so he straddled Blake. “I do what I can to please you.”

“Should we eat?” Blake said, thumbs already ducking under denim to massage Adam’s bare hips. “Jesse warned me that you get distracted and miss dinners after most shows.”

“You’re not heavily advocating that option, I think,” Adam said, licking his lips. “Really, I’m providing a service for your team. You need to stay sharp. Blue balls is a distraction you can't afford with the finale coming up.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Blake said, running his hands up Adam’s arms. "Can I see the tattoo?”

Adam leaned back, the sudden air of hesitancy making Blake blink. Adam first mentioned the tattoo with a practiced nonchalance about a week after he got it. The frontman hung up the phone almost immediately after his blurted announcement and unsubtly changed subjects whenever Blake hinted at the new ink. His boyfriend’s uncertainty was as endearing as it was confusing.

“Show me, sweetheart,” Blake said. “I want to see it.”

Blake reached up, tilting Adam’s head down so their eyes connected. Hazel eyes softened. He slowly rolled up his t-shirt’s right sleeve. Blake felt his breath escape from him at the revealed ink. Two strands of barb wires twisted around his previously unmarked bicep. They were almost elegant on Adam.

“Of course, your turns out better than mine,” Blake said, reaching up slowly to trace the new tattoo—their tattoo?

Adam bit back a smile. “So you do like it?”

Blake jerked his gaze away from the ink to gawk at his boyfriend.  “Course I like it! Just the idea of it blows me away. The fact that it’s already on you...”

Adam was still smiling when Blake dragged his head back down. Blake's fingers brushed down his cheeks. Their tongues tangled easily with each other, deliberate gropes and soft brushes all given with the same familiarity and ease. God, Blake missed this. Adam had been away from his arms for far too long.

A chirping phone vibrated and blared at the duo from a nearby table. Adam and Blake briefly broke apart.

“I thought phones off vibrate were Satan’s creation,” Blake teased, leaning forward to nip Adam’s jaw.

His boyfriend shifted away, the intent focus on his chirping phone making Blake pause. “It’s my work one.”

“I assumed,” Blake said, attempting to keep his tone even. His own work phone was shut off and in his back pocket.

“It wouldn’t be ringing unless it was important,” Adam said, slipping out of Blake’s arms as he snagged his phone. “This will just take a second.”

“Really?”

Blake’s tone must’ve been more aggravated than he intended. Apology and irritation flickered across Adam’s face. “This is important. Barely anyone has this number and none of them would call after a show just for a casual conversation.”

“Right, sorry,” Blake said, not entirely certain how heartfelt his apology sounded. But Adam already turned around, answering his phone with a clipped greeting. The country singer tried to clamp down on his irritation. Blake valued a good work ethic. But Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even been with Adam fifteen minutes. His own work phone burned in his back pocket. He resisted turning it on and responding to his voicemails and emails just to be petty.

Blake assumed Adam would have the same mindset as him: That work could wait until tomorrow. The couple needed a night just for themselves. He took a deep breath. Adam didn’t know Blake was coming. The fact his boyfriend’s phone was on and Adam answered it is not that big of a deal. He just had to squash the irrational belief that Adam chose work over him. Obviously, when Blake needed him, Adam would be at his side in an instant.

The country singer had to avert his gaze as Adam began wandering around the room, strategically avoiding Blake’s vicinity. Adam’s call—for some radio interview Blake gathered—ended ten minutes later. Blake cleared his throat, forcing a small smile after the frontman finally turned around.

“So how about food?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI: It's totally implied in my story that Adam makes Blake a Maroon 5 shirt for him to wear during the season 3 Blinds. Except it's literally a white shirt that Adam drew (deliberately shitty) on with Sharpie. Blake wears it (he says to make fun of Adam, but he's secretly proud of it because it's one of a kind and Adam made it and Blake is a sap).


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline
> 
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer (Pharrell)  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 ¬– Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> May 2012 – Blake takes Adam hunting  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> August 2012 – Fashion Week: Victoria’s Secret fashion show  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge 
> 
> I'm over 100,000 words! Tbh, I never saw myself as someone who would write this much for a story (and I still have sooo much more to write for this. It's ridiculous)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

_May 2015_

“Blake!” Adam hissed. The country singer remained in his chair, ignoring his boyfriend. “Blake!”

The four chairs were reset so they had their backs to the stage. The coaches were just waiting for Heather to give the signal for the next contestant. But until then...

“ _Blake_!”

“I think Adam wants you,” Pharrell said, nudging Blake.

The taller man smiled. “He always wants me. I’m irresistible.”

“Blake-y!” Adam sang

“It’s almost embarrassing sometimes...” Blake said.

“Blake!”

“Right. You must lead a rough life,” Pharrell said, casting Adam an amused look.

The frontman winked. “ _Blake_!”

“I knew you would come over to my side,” Blake said.

“I don’t know, Adam is so cute though,” Gwen said. “Like a bunny.”

“Blake!”

“What?” Blake asked finally, turning to Adam.

“You’re stupid,” Adam said, smirking at the mix of oohs and laughter echoed from the studio audience.

Blake blinked. “That’s it?”

Adam considered. “And you have great hair.”

“Ah, now your persistence makes sense,” Blake said, attempting to flip his hair. He only succeeded in looking like an idiot, but Adam was more than used to that. The frontman shook his head, smiling over at Blake.

“Contestant is coming in ten,” Heather said. Adam closed his mouth to glance at The Voice director. He wondered briefly if Heather ever hesitated before interrupting a conversation. It was doubtful.

“Blake!” Adam called, ignoring Heather’s glare.

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

Blake’s face softened. “Love you too.”

 

_June 2011_

“Welcome back to the studio, you lazy sons of bitches,” Blake greeted as his team shuffled into one of the practice rooms. Everyone dressed down, knowing that the cameras wouldn’t be filming today. Of course, Patrick still had on a bright purple bowtie and his fedora. “And Raelynn.”

The blonde brightened. Adam eyed the portable white board standing next to the piano distrustfully.

“It has been so long,” Adam said. “Maybe even 12 hours since we were here last.”

“So I figured it was time to jump back into the swing of things,” Blake said. “As y’all know, us and Team Usher are performing next Tuesday.”

“Gasp,” Adam said, sipping his coffee. Or what Blake assumed was coffee. It was hard to trust Starbucks and Adam definitely seemed the type to get a whip cream, sugar-filled concoction. “Glad you’re our informant. We would be hopeless without you.”

“Someone is snarky today,” Blake said.

Adam shrugged. “Mornings are hard.”

“It’s 11,” Blake frowned.

“I know what I said,” Adam said, sipping his Starbucks.

“Anyways,” Blake said, turning towards the rest of his team, “y’all probably forgot that it’s our turn to perform elimination night. And y’all know that elimination performances are with a special guest star...”

Everybody’s eyes widened. Even Patrick looked stricken.

“Who are we performing with?” Jermaine asked.

“OneRepublic,” Blake said. “We’re singing Everybody Loves Me.”

“Shit, how’d you snag them?” Adam asked.

Blake pressed a finger against his nose. “I have my sources.”

“So...Usher?” Adam guessed.

“I meet non-country people without Usher,” Blake said.

“Just not this one,” Adam said

The country singer sighed. “Just not this one... Now we won’t be able to practice with them until the day of but I already have the song divided up for everybody. Also, just in case y’all did forget, Tuesday marks the start of group performances.”

“What are we singing?” Jermaine asked.

“And that is why you’re here, children,” Blake said, ignoring Adam’s pout once the singer realized his cup was empty. The songwriter had only paid half-attention to Blake since he walked in. “Instead of choosing a song for y’all, I thought I’d get your input. Then we’ll divvy up the verses, decide on choreography, and all that fun stuff.”

“Choreography? I thought you were repulsed by that word,” Adam said, finally focusing on Blake while he tossed his Starbucks into a trashcan.

“I’m repulsed by Cee Lo’s extravagant productions,” Blake said. “They’re unnecessary and I don’t understand them.”

“It’s not like that’s a new experience for you,” Adam said.

“Are we going to watch you two flirt or discuss songs?” Patrick interrupted. Adam rolled his eyes while Blake attempted to look sheepish.

“So what are y’all feeling?” Blake asked, poising a marker next to the white board.

His team remained silent. Jermaine frowned while Raelynn pursed her lips thoughtfully. Adam attempted to hide a yawn—the city boy wouldn’t last a day in the country—and Patrick scrolled through his phone.

“Not everyone at once,” Blake said. “These songs can be anything.”

“I’m trying to find a song where multiple genres will sound decent together,” Patrick said.

“Don’t overthink it,” Blake said. “Trust me, most songs work. I was always worried that I would stick out like a sore thumb in season one during the judge performances. I didn’t want to look like an idiot on TV.”

“A bit late for that,” Adam said.

“Should we sing We are the Champions or is that too on the nose?” Patrick asked.

Adam scoffed. Blake smirked as he wrote it on the board.

“The truth hurts. The other teams will have to find out eventually,” Raelynn said. “Um...What I Like About You?”

Patrick and Raelynn’s suggestiosn broke the ice. Now a stream of suggestions flew up faster than Blake could write.

“My Sharona.”

“Don’t Stop Me Now. I fucking love that song.”

“Before He Cheats.”

“A Thousand Years.”

“Africa.”

“Mean.”

“Hold On, I’m Coming.”

“We’re Not Gonna Take It.”

"Everybody Wants To Rule the World."

Everybody yelled songs but Adam. Blake glanced at the man, noting him alternating between silently studying his teammates and the whiteboard. His face was thoughtful.

“Great choices,” Blake said. “Even though I’m sure Adam wished a couple boy bands were listed up here.”

That got his attention. Hazel eyes instantly focused on blue. Raelynn and Jermaine snorted while Patrick smirked.

“What?” Adam asked.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Patrick said. “You seem the type.”

Adam flipped off Patrick, not taking his eyes away from Blake.

“I have it on good authority that your deepest desire is to perform a boy band song,” Blake said.

“Check your sources, Big Country,” Adam said.

“So your tendency to drunkenly impersonate Justin Timberlake doesn’t count?” Blake asked.

Adam pointedly ignored his amused teammates. “No. How dare you use that against me.”

Blake grinned cheekily. Adam attempted to maintain his scowl.

“Adam, if it’s your dream to be JT, we’re willing to help,” Jermaine said.

“We’re here for you,” Raelynn said.

Patrick waved at the blonde and soul singer. “What they said.”

“You all are dicks,” Adam said.

“Be nice to your teammates,” Blake said. “Now earn your keep. Suggest a song.”

He wished Adam at least momentarily stared blankly at the whiteboard. Being put on the spot always made the country singer flounder. Of course, Adam, as always, strived to prove Blake wrong and answered immediately.

“The Bad Touch.”

“...What?” Blake asked. At least Jermaine and Raelynn had equally inquisitive expressions on the face. Patrick’s face remained a mask of vague amusement and irritation, which he long ago accepted as Patrick’s resting face.

“A lovely ballad. A classic of the new millennium, if I can be so bold,” Adam said with a mischievous glint that made Blake instantly suspicious. “It came out a couple years ago by the legendary Bloodhound Gang.”

Blake had no idea what he was talking about. Which was probably obvious going off Adam's snickering.

“Sing some of it,” Blake said.

“Alright, I’ll pick the key parts,” Adam said, snagging a lone guitar in the practice room. “This will sell you on it. I can see it already.”

“Wow us, rock star.”

Adam winked before clearing his throat.

“ _You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mammals_

_So let’s do it like the do on the Discovery channel_

_Do it again now—_ ”

“Oh my God, what?” Raelynn asked.

“Don’t make Adam feel bad for his one contribution,” Patrick said. “He tries so hard.”

Adam continued singing, smirking whenever he caught his eye. Blake rolled his eyes. He knew Adam picked this song solely because it was ridiculous. Yet Adam somehow made the song almost work. Freaking rock stars... Blake cleared his throat. “Right, any other suggestions?”

_“Love the kind you clean up with a mop and bucket_

_Like the lost catacombs of Egypt_

_Only God know where we stuck it—_ ”

“I don’t know. Is there a certain strategy to use during song selection?” Raelynn asked.

Blake shook his head. “Not for the group performance. It doesn’t count towards any personal score. I figured choosing a song everybody like would only strengthen our overall performance. Everybody having a good time trumps potential strategy.”

_“Heiroglyphics? Let me be Pacific_

_I wanna be down in your South Seas_

_But I got this notion that the motion of your ocean means ‘Small Craft Advisory’—_ ”

“We could never go wrong with a classic,” Patrick said. He frowned when Adam's singing abruptly cut off, even though he continued strumming on the guitar.

Adam shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”

“That song is ridiculous,” Raelynn said.

“Don’t you love it?” Adam grinned.

“I really do,” she said, eyes suddenly widening. “Oh! I know! How about This Love? I love Gwen Stefani.”

Adam turned to the small country girl instantly, fingers pausing between strings. He continued riffing before anyone could comment. “I think Patrick meant more like Queen or Twisted Sisters.”

“I’m cool with This Love,” Patrick shrugged. “It’ll work better than Hollaback Girl or some shit.”

“Hollaback Girl was my childhood,” Raelynn said.

“You make me feel old,” Patrick said.

“Jermaine?” Blake prompted.

The soul singer stared at Adam for a moment. “I like the song. It’s also different from the song I’m performing solo. It’ll be good to show my range.”

Blake nodded, turning to the suddenly withdrawn singer. “Adam?”

"Sure." Adam shrugged, not looking anyone in the eye. 

“Alright,” Blake said, clamping down on his urge to take Adam aside and interrogate the smaller man, “with that astounding vote of confidence, This Love is our group song... Unless we have an objection?”

“Nah, This Love is stellar,” Patrick said.

“Go team,” Blake said. “Task one complete. Now, we can split the verses like...”

           

 _August_ _2012_

Adam shifted gears, his Mustang roaring as he passed a maroon Porsche. Rain pattered steadily against his windshield. The frontman risked a quick glance at the shivering model in his passenger seat. Behati leaned against the window, streetlight illuminating her already swelling face. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

She had been silent since they left the party.

He took a left turn, aimlessly driving until one of them spoke. The air was inevitably tense. Of course, they had only met an hour ago. This wasn't exactly an ideal way to start any sort of relationship. He sighed. This night was supposed to entail a light, semi-tipsy gathering hosted by Victoria’s Secret. James and Mickey had been ecstatic at the prospect of meeting models while Adam had been mentally preparing for a potential interaction with any of the other performing artists. Kanye, Jay-Z, and Nicki Minaj were household names. Adam still had no idea how Maroon 5 got thrown alongside them. Jordan, their manager, volunteered them to fill a last minute hole in Victoria Secret's musician lineup. Maroon 5 was collectively in shock since Victoria’s Secret actually agreed.

They voted to travel straight to New York for Fashion Show instead of returning to LA from their tour as originally planned. It made sense logistically even if Adam’s stomach instantly dropped. This delay meant his and Blake’s reunion would be put on hold. Blake attempted to be solely happy for them when Adam called him with the news, but even his boyfriend’s supportive comments couldn’t quite mask his disappointment. Not that Adam could blame him. Now, by the time Maroon 5 traveled back to LA, The Voice would be finished and Blake had no official reason to hang around the smoggy city. His boyfriend would probably travel to Tishomingo to rejuvenate before he left for Nashville to record his next album.

Adam already made plans to stow away to Tishomingo. He fucked up their LA reunion plans and Blake’s brief July visit already seemed like ages ago. But he and Blake both knew it would be foolish to pass up the great opportunity Jordan somehow procured Maroon 5. Besides, Blake pointed out their publicist, Bryan, would personally throttle Adam if he passed up on a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Blake joked that a delayed boyfriend was better than a dead boyfriend.

A wave of longing rose in Adam. He wished Blake were here. He needed his reassuring presence. His gaze flickered to the listless model. The country singer would know what to do. Or at least keep Adam from tipping over the edge and into pure panic.

The party was well underway when Maroon 5 appeared—an hour late after a long debate on the appropriate arrival time. Maroon 5 stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of glamorous people. The band hung back awkwardly until Anne V—the model hired for the Misery music video—approached them like a Godsend. A familiar face was a welcome reprieve from the mass of strangers. They should socialize with people at least in their immediate vicinity, but that was the duty for a less awestruck day.

They all joked around with Anne until their conversation somehow ended with Anne herding the rest of his bandmates to the other side of the sleek club, leaving Adam by his lonesome. He was only slightly miffed by their abandonment. The frontman attempted to make nice with some of the other partygoers, but he either gawked unattractively or blurted something inappropriate. There was no in between. His brain to mouth filter was shit at the moment. So he made the executive decision to float around so he wouldn’t potentially piss off someone important. Not all celebrities were as laidback as Blake, unfortunately.

The frontman weaved his way through the crowd for some liquid courage—feeling incredibly out of place among the flaunted wealth and famous faces—when he met a model whose smile didn’t instantly turn calculating when he made eye contact. Behati appeared like an angel floating down from heaven—aka she stumbled into him and partially spilled her cocktail. She barely contained her horrified gasp at Adam’s newly wet shirt. It was a hell of an icebreaker.

Adam ordered her another cocktail, shrugging off her apologies and proceeding to latch onto her like a koala. Fortunately, Behati accepted the change of events with barely a blink, especially after he insisted she saved him from awkward crowd mingling. His mind refused to treat this club like any other party. Probably due to the fuck ton of famous people floating around. Adam swore he saw Sandra Bullock earlier.

The party became a lot less intimidating after Behati introduced Adam to the rest of her model friends—all of whom were seated in an equally decadent room with faux fur draped over the array of slim black chairs. Adam grinned when the polite smiles of the models finally transformed into something more genuine. The frontman soon had all of them laughing at some Voice stories, which mostly revolved around Blake.

Everything had been going great.

He relaxed for the first time since arriving at the party, finally allowing himself a couple drinks now that his paranoia of offending another partygoer diminished. He barely registered Behati leaving to grab another round of drinks until it became apparent that Behati’s presence reined in her friends’ more abrasive behavior. Coincidentally, Adam soon excused himself to the bathroom. He was only partially hiding from suddenly over eager models.

To not make a complete ass of himself, Adam actually headed towards the back of the club, squeezing past two very drunk celebrities—as in the A-list type whom he attempted not to gawk at—until he emerged into the quiet back hallway.

He hadn't expected to come across anything but momentary reprieve. He never anticipated... Adam glanced at Behati, mind mulling back to what happened.

He anticipated a few drunk partygoers and maybe some frantic employees in the back hallways. But not this. Never this.

A squatty man with navy blue suit pawing a swaying Behati. He sucked in a ragged breath.  The beefy man encompassed Behati. The model barely moved. Not to protest, not to reciprocate. She just stood there, staring groggily at the wall in front of her.

Ripping fabric broke Adam out of his momentary stupor. His heart thumped. He barely remembered doing more than blinking, but suddenly the beefy man was in front of Adam. The man only had time to frown as the frontman threw a tightly clenched fist across the assailant’s face. Pain instantly burned across his knuckles.

Adam grimaced at the flash of memories, eyes flickering to his review mirror.

Everything happened so fast. The beefy man recovered, a fist instantly crushing Adam’s unprotected face. Behati weakly stirred and vaguely swatted at the beefy man. The beefy man sneered, backhanding the model against the wall. She collapsed on the floor, staring at him with large, unfocused eyes. Adam lurched in front of the model, kicking the beefy man in the crotch. The beefy man fell with a cursed groan.

Adam vaguely remembered pulling a dazed Behati to her feet and out the nearest exit sign. They stumbled to the Mustang, neither looking back as Adam pulled away.

That was twenty minutes ago.

“You’ll have to give me directions soon,” Adam said. “We can’t just keep driving in circles.”

Behati leaned her head back and blinked blearily at him. Strands of hair escaped her previously tight bun, the wavy locks framing her face. Adam rolled to a stop. He glanced over at the frowning model.

“Behati?”

The Victoria’s Secret model mumbled something incoherently, shifting to stare back out the window. The general screech of brakes and drunken yells from the New York streets were muffled.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Adam said slowly. “Is there anyone you want me to call? ...Take you to?”

Adam grimaced as the light turned green. Behati remained silent.

“I think I need to take you to the hospital...”

“No,” Behati said, perking up enough to scowl at the frontman. “It just needs to run its course. I don’t want to deal with the repercussions of the hospital.”

“Behati, this is serious,” Adam said. “The drugs are still running through your system. You don’t know how much he gave you.”

“You don’t know me,” she hissed. Her hands trembled. “You’re nothing to me. Just drop me off. Now.”

“I’m not going to abandon you,” Adam said. No matter how he spinned this, there was barely any chance she would trust him. “I might not know you, but I want to help. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I just need to sleep it off,” Behati said. “I’m barely dizzy now. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, somehow that’s not reassuring,” Adam said. “I’m taking you to my hotel room. We can call someone from there.”

The Mustang lightly bumped over a manhole. Adam eyed the model as color drained from her face.

“Your place?” Behati repeated.

He nodded, wondering if his nonchalance would cover up his complete, anxious clueslessness. He had no idea what the fuck to do. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, for now.”

“God, that was your plan all along.” Horror hardened her previously dull tone.

“What? No.”

“Act like a knight in shining armor,” Behati spat, recoiling until she pressed against the door. “You dragged me away from Bradley to make me trust you. That’s almost clever...”

“I didn’t—”

“What am I? Your damsel in distress?” she hissed. “Your pretty woman? Do I _owe_ you now?”

“No!”

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re expecting to gain from this but you’re not getting anything from me.”

Christ, this was rapidly spiraling out of the fragile control he salvaged. “I don’t want—”

“Of _course not_ ,” Behati said, her voice gradually growing more shrill. “I’m sure you’re a _nice guy_. Bradley told me he was a nice guy too.  A _nice guy_ helping out a drunk girl. Just drop me off."

"Behati—"

"I’ll scream, I’ll kick, I’ll claw your eyes out." Behati's eyes were wide. Sweat gleamed on her forehead.

“I’m not going to do anything,” Adam said, attention torn between the bustling New York street and the hyperventilating model next to him. “I swear.”

She scoffed. “ _Right_. I’m supposed to believe a relative _stranger_ is helping me.”

“Yes,” Adam said. If he said it confidently enough, she would be more inclined to believe him. He gnawed his bottom lip. It was a working theory. He was willing to try anything at the moment. “Behati, breathe. You need to calm down.”

“I am not going to calm down! You’re not taking me up to your room!”

“We don’t have to go up to my room,” Adam said. “I just wanted to get off the streets. We’ll go wherever you want to go. Tell me where to go, Behati.”

“Fuck off,” the model mumbled, clawing at the door. “Let me out here.”

Adam leaned over and clamped her fumbling fingers. The model jerked away like he burned her.

“Don’t touch me.”

He quickly withdrew his hand. “I’m not letting you leave when you’re still drugged up. It’s not safe.”

“ _You’re_ not safe,” Behati said. “I don’t even know you.”

Adam licked his lips. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to trust me?”

“Let me out,” Behati said, pressing a hand against the window. Adam stared at the bustling crowds still infiltrating the streets. The city that never sleeps held true to its name. “Let me out right now.”

“I’ll take you to one of your friend’s places or my hotel,” Adam said. “I’m not leaving you unsupervised.”

The model stiffly turned. “I don’t trust you.”

Adam’s heart thumped. They were talking in circles. Shit, he had no idea how to reassure Behati. Anything he said could be skewed to support her validated fear. He needed to find a place for Behati to stay until the drugs wore off. Someplace safe. He knew absolutely no safe havens in New York—He barely knew the city, period—let alone a place where Behati would feel comfortable.

He practically kidnapped her in his rush to get her away from the dick—Bradley, apparently—who roofied her. Everything just happened so quickly... Grabbing one of her model friends—or, Christ, even security—never entered his mind. Instead, he took her away from everyone she knew. But, in that moment, everything about the party screamed get out.

Adam would punch himself in the face if he were in Behati’s shoes. If he were coherent enough, which he was not altogether convinced Behati was. She must be terrified. Words tumbled out of Adam’s mouth before they registered. “If it makes you feel better, I’m gay and am in a committed relationship.”

Behati blinked. “Bullshit.”

“Afraid not,” Adam said. “He’s almost my longest relationship.”

He felt Behati’s scrutiny like a touch. “You’re trying to hide behind a gay façade? To what? Make me drop my guard? Like you’re _not_ going to rape me?”

“I’m _not_.”

She scoffed. “Right because you’re gay and would never be interested in someone like me. I’m sure you’re absolutely terrified of vaginas.”

Adam’s mind raced. They were nearing his hotel. He just wanted to get Behati off the streets. Or at least with someone she trusted. His hotel room would make a good temporary refuge as any. If he could convince Behati. He eyed the trembling model.

“Look, if you open the glove box, you’ll find a canister of pepper spray,” Adam said. “Grab that and carry it with you. If I—or anyone—does anything you don’t like. Just use it.”

Tense silence once again suffocated the car. Behati sat frozen in the passenger seat. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Adam said. “Just hang onto the pepper spray.”

Behati watched him warily as she fumbled the glove box open. He couldn’t tell if she paused from surprise or relief before she snatched the neon yellow canister.

“Now, we’ll head up to my room,” he said, speaking slowly. He attempted to contain the flinch as Behati pointed the pepper spray at him. The cannister wavered a few inches from his face. He gave no indication of protest. “You don’t have to stay there long. I just want you to be with someone you’re comfortable with, which is clearly not me. I’ll find someone you trust when we get up there.”

Behati swallowed. “You will?”

“Just tell me who to call.”

She sucked in a quivering breath. “...The only people I know here are the other models. I’m not usually in New York long enough to make friends.”

Adam bit his lip. The heat escaped Behati. Now her words struggled past her lips, clunky and slow. He was entirely clueless how to proceed. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I take you to my room?” Adam asked gently.

She nodded.

 

* * *

 

Behati sat on the opposite side of the room, facing out the wide window. The whimsical city view from this morning had long since lost its glamor. The model ignored the frontman. Not that he minded. The most they interacted was Adam offering her the TV remote, which Behati tucked into the armchair cushion without comment, and an ice pack for her swelling jaw. He had since kept to the other side of the room. He wasn’t entirely sure Behati noticed.

“Do you want me to call someone? Is there anything you need?” Adam asked. Again. But maybe this time he would get a response. Behati hadn’t talked to him since they left the Mustang. She warily accepted his jacket, knowing that the tears in her dress would cause a bigger backlash than a Victoria Secret’s model following a musician up to his room.

“I don’t want you to call anyone,” Behati said, tucking her loose hair behind her ears. Her venom from the car seamlessly altered to shame as soon as she entered his room. Adam wished she was attacking him again and not herself.

“Work with me here,” Adam pleaded.

Behati turned back towards the city view.

“I feel like you’d relax with someone else here,” Adam said. “Someone you know.”

“I don’t care about your opinion,” Behati said. She almost advanced passed monotone with that statement.

Adam hummed, playing with a rubber band he found in the night stand drawer. The rubber tightly twisted and flexed around his fingers. “I thought you wanted to go somewhere else.”

“I want to go to my hotel,” Behati said.

“You know I’m not letting you be alone right now,” Adam said mildly. The model scowled slightly. A thrill ran through him as some emotion cracked her vacancy. “I only have one model’s number. So unless you want someone other than Anne V...”

Behati sighed, but something softened in her eyes.

Adam studied the model. “If that’s okay?”

“Anne would probably be the best choice,” Behati said reluctantly. “She won’t cause a fuss.”

“She should cause a little bit of a fuss,” Adam said. Behati’s gaze flickered to the frontman for the first time since he offered her his jacket in the car. “Since Bradley is employed by Victoria’s Secret.”

Behati dropped her gaze to her dangling bracelets. “Bradley is a freelance photographer. He’s only hired during big events like Fashion Week and the occasional shoot.”

“How often do you work with him?”

She slid the bracelets off her wrists, casting the discarded jewelry to the floor with a clang. “More than most, not as much as others...”

“More reason to report him,” Adam said. “He targeted you, Behati. He can’t just get away scot free.”

Behati resolutely turned away. The fight from the car had long since escaped her. “I’ve seen this type of case too many times. It’s his word against mine—”

“And mine,” Adam said. She just glanced at him skeptically. “I only saw the aftermath, but I can put two and two together. I’m a reliable witness. He drugged you and attempted to—”

Behati pursed her lips. “Nothing happened.”

“Something almost happened,” Adam argued. “This time you were his victim, but do you really want him to have a chance like this again? With anybody? Don’t you want to do something?”

The model swallowed, drawing her quivering knees up to her chest. She closed her eyes, her heading falling against the back of the chair. He mentally berated himself. Now was not the time to snap at her. Even though he wanted to murder Bradley. Or lock him behind bars. He just wanted that despicable human being away from Behati.

“Aren’t you supposed to call Anne?” Behati asked. Adam studied her. She looked worn and impossibly fragile like any ill-placed word would shatter her. He ran a hand through his hair. Christ, Bradley thought he could get away with it because most guys do. Who knows how many friends of Behati’s went through an assault like this. Models were constantly dehumanized. There's no reason to think that wouldn't continue with people who thought they deserved models' intimate attention. Adam huffed. He brought his phone out of his pocket—ignoring the five missed calls and ten texts from the guys with a pang—and pulled up Anne’s number.

The Russian’s phone rang twice before she answered. _“Hello?”_

The pulsing music quickly became muffled as Anne wandered to a quiet, and hopefully secluded, place. “Hey, can you come to my hotel room?”

_“Is that where you are? Everyone is worried.”_

“Yeah, I had to leave,” Adam said.

_“We noticed.”_

“Tell them I’m back at the hotel,” Adam said, ignoring the sarcasm lacing over her badly hidden concern. Anne was worrying about the wrong person. “I took the car so they’ll have to take a cab back.”

 _“I can drive them_. _Adam, what happened?”_

Adam glanced at Behati, who went back to listlessly staring out the window. “Behati was roofied. I brought her here, but I thought you—”

He heard Anne suck in a breath. _“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in a few.”_

The steel in her tone lightened the weight that had been collecting over his shoulders. “Do you need an address?”

_“I’m assuming one of your bandmates will know.”_

“Anne, thanks.”

_“...Tell Behati I’ll be there soon.”_

Adam hung up. He didn’t know how to interact with Behati. They barely made it past small talk and quips at the party. But Anne’s presence will help. Hopefully. At least, Adam wanted to believe she would magically fix everything.

Behati remained curled in the armchairs, her black silky dress contrasting starkly against the white chair. The rips in her dress were obscured from this angle. She looked like a cover for a magazine. Strappy heels artfully tossed next to the chair while the brightly lit New York skyline engulfed the wide window in front of her. She could pass for contemplating until people focused on her face. Her dark eyes were dull and the corners of her mouth quirked downward.

The silence was oppressive. Adam hesitated before breaking it.

“Anne is coming.”

Behati blinking was the only indication that the model heard him. He sat stiffly on the other side of the room. He was very much playing this by ear. He wanted Behati to call the shots, but it was difficult to grasp what she needed when the model refused to utter a word. He pursed his lips. He wanted her to feel comfortable until their mutual friend’s arrival. 

“I assumed,” she said softly.

Adam took her response as an invitation it probably wasn’t. “Do you want some sweatpants or something? Maybe food? What do you need?”

Behati released a breath, still staring listlessly out the window. “A distraction...”

He blinked before slowly creeping forward in his room, sitting on the bed behind Behati’s armchair. The ghost of her reflection in the window turned to him briefly before gazing back to the boats chugging across the Hudson River. Crisis situations left Adam floundering, and loaded silences even more so, but distractions were his forte.

“I haven’t seen my boyfriend for a month,” Adam said. Behati jerked, her probing stare like a physical touch. He kept going. “We’re both busy people and obviously I had the tour...He visited me a few weeks ago in Ohio, actually. His visit was too short. But it’s not like I could smuggle him on one of the tour buses and force him to be a groupie. Even though I don’t think he would be opposed to the idea...

“But he has shit to do. Besides me, obviously,” Adam continued. A ghost of a smile flickered across Behati’s face. The model shifted in the chair to face him. “We both understand that our careers are hectic, especially since my music career is so new. But...”

“You thought that it would be easier?” Behati said.

“Exactly. I just...I spent so much time with him this time last year,” Adam said. “I guess I assumed we would see each other just as much as we used to. As if last year’s events would repeat. Which is stupid. I knew things were changing—”

“Between you and your boyfriend?” Behati asked, leaning heavily against the chair.

Adam nodded. “And Maroon 5. The band has been together a year now, actually. If you don’t count the decade-long hiatus, which you really shouldn’t. I knew Maroon 5 coming together and releasing an album would change things but I never knew how much.”

“Is your boyfriend not supportive?”

Adam knew a small smile weaseled its way on his face. But he couldn’t help it. “He’s insanely supportive. He’s been backing me since before Maroon 5’s album was considered a realistic goal.”

Behati hummed. “That must be nice... Not everyone is as thrilled about career changes like that.”

“Did that happen to you?”

Behati scoffed. “Yeah, my parents aren’t entirely supportive of my modeling career.”

“Really?”

“Are you surprised?” she asked, smiling sardonically. “Wearing skimpy outfits and strutting down runways is not what my parents had in mind for me when they sent me to school in America. They were picturing a doctor, lawyer, businesswoman... The American Dream and all that.”

“I’m sure they’re still proud of you,” he said. “I know from many dumbass stunts that parents can accept a shit ton.”

“Prancing around isn’t as respectable,” Behati said. “They made their peace with it. But my family doesn’t really understand how modeling can be a living. The fact I make more than most is still a mystery to them.”

Adam pursed his lips. He hadn’t meant for this conversation to turn her even quieter and worn down. “I suppose you’ll just have to show them.”

Behati eyed him skeptically.

“If they see you’re genuinely happy, they can’t be too disapproving,” Adam said.

“You’ve obviously never met a church minister’s kid,” Behati said.

“I’ve seen movies,” Adam said. She huffed. Adam was hesitant to label it a laugh.

“I know they’re critical because they care. I learned long ago to not get too caught up in it. Or else I would stagger under the weight of their disapproval,” Behati said lightly. A slow smile crossed her face when she glanced over at Adam. “But since when are we talking about me? Tell me about your boyfriend. I didn’t even know you were gay.”

“You wouldn’t,” Adam said. “I’m not publically out. It’s not that I’m ashamed. I just—”

“You don’t want the masses to know,” Behati interrupted. “I get it. A lot of models are in the same situation.”

Adam frowned. “Really? I thought most male models are stereotyped as gay. I didn’t think they had to hide.”

“Who said I was just talking about guys?” Behati asked. “Even though there are plenty of companies and photographers that don’t work with openly gay models. Every industry has their homophobes. No one wants their sexuality used against them.”

“My brother gave me a lot of shit for not publically coming out,” Adam said. “My band did too a little bit...but mostly because they blamed Blake.”

“Did Blake influence you?”

“No,” Adam said. Too quickly.

Behati cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, not entirely,” he amended. “I chose not to keep my sexuality private during The Voice. I didn’t want them typecasting me and shoving me into a neat little box. But now I know NBC would have been great with it. I almost wish that I came out before my blind audition sometimes, but I love how things turned out too much to play what if. When Blake and I got together it made sense to keep our relationship on the down low. We didn't want people ruining what we were still testing.”

Behati and Adam fell into a comfortable silence, both watching a distant helicopter fly across the city.

“I’m coming out eventually,” Adam said. “Once I’m better established and Blake and I decide the time is right.”

“Just don’t let Blake influence you too much,” Behati cautioned. He cocked his head at the model. “If you want to come out before him, do it. Do what makes you happy.”

“I doubt Blake will be anything other than ridiculously supportive,” he said, “as is his tendency.”

“Good,” she nodded. “I don’t want you to be miserable and lie because someone else forces you.”

“Aww, B,” Adam cooed.

Behati rolled her eyes, smiling softly. A hasty series of raps on the door jarring Adam out of their conversation.

“How many traffic laws do you think she broke?” Adam asked.

“She is very determined,” Behati said, blinking slowly.

Adam focused on the bags under her eyes. “Come on. Lay in bed while I get Anne.”

The sheets rustled as Behati silently followed his promptings. He smiled. She finally trusted him. He was still smiling as he opened the door. Anne simply raised an eyebrow at him and clicked inside, shutting the door on his bandmate’s gawking faces. Adam gestured to the bed.

“Behati,” Anne said, waltzing over to her friend.

Behati shifted. If the Russian was surprised by her rumpled appearance, she gave no indication. Anne turned Behati’s face, her jaw no less swollen.

“Adam has a secret boyfriend,” Behati said in lieu of greeting.

Anne raised an eyebrow at him. “The tall one?”

Adam jerked back, feeling the blood drain from his face.

The tall one could be literally anybody, but Adam didn’t delude himself. She knew, even though she only met Blake once. “That’s a shitty description—”

Anne smirked. She crouched down, brushing hair out of Behati’s face. She leaned into the touch. “It’s the tall one.”

“The tall one?” Behati murmured. Adam felt his face heat up. If Anne knew after one meeting, who else did? The prospect of others knowing did not hit him with the level of alarm he assumed it would. It was the swell of relief that caught him off guard.

“Blake Shelton,” Anne said. He swallowed, failing at appearing nonchalant.

“Really?” Surprise road over even Behati’s groggy tone. He flushed at her instant gaze. “Blake _Shelton_. As in your Voice coach?”

“Kinky,” Anne said.

“Blake Shelton,” Behati mused. “With the infamous bromance.”

“Less bro now, I think,” Anne said. Adam stuck his tongue out at the Russian.

“You two make an odd couple,” Behati said, wincing as Anne's fingers pressed the ice pack against her jaw. “I like it.”

“This relationship is a secret, you know,” Adam said, flopping on the armchair. For the time being. The frontman toyed with the discarded rubber band. He needed to talk to Blake soon. Plant a few seeds.

“Is it really?” Anne asked.

“Stop being cocky,” Adam reprimanded. “You knew it was.”

Anne shrugged. “Sorry, he wasn’t exactly subtle when he dragged you away from the Misery set during a break.”

“He always manhandles me,” Adam dismissed. “That’s nothing new.”

“Kinky,” Behati mumble against her pillow. Anne’s ran her hands through Behati’s hair.

“The way he shoved you against a wall and kissed you seemed out of the norm,” Anne said.

“That’s hot,” Behati said. “I want to meet Blake.”

“I don’t think you should,” Adam said. “As our relationship is a secret. I don’t think he wants random people talking to him about us.”

“It’s only secret from the public,” Anne said. “We’re your friends. Naturally, we’re exempt.”

“That’s what I tried to say,” Behati said into the pillow.

 "You need to rest," Anne said. “Do you want to sleep here or...”

Behati nuzzled further in Adam’s bed. “Here.”

“Alright, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Anne said soothingly. The blonde urged Behati out of bed. The other model complied slowly. “Do you have anything for her to wear?”

“Sweats are in the bathroom,” Adam said. “I was prepared.”

Behati blinked, focusing on the frontman. Her eyes widened. “Adam, is it okay that I take your bed? I mean, I—”

“You girls stay here,” Adam said, waving his hand at her concern. “I’ll crash in James and Mickey’s room. Besides, all the guys are probably congregated somewhere, waiting for me to explain, um...”

“You can tell them,” Behati said. “I trust you. And you trust them.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” Adam said.

Behati smiled tiredly. “Night, Adam.”

“Night, B.”

Anne prodded Behati to the bathroom. The Russian shot Adam a look.

“We’re talking tomorrow.”

Adam gave her a quick nod, only retreating to his anxious friends after the bathroom door slid shut. The gleaming alarm clock revealed it was quarter until two. Adam had a shit ton of explaining to do. He ran a hand through his hair. This night was incredibly long and Maroon 5 had an early day tomorrow.

This was not what Adam had in mind when Maroon 5 was asked to perform at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.

_June 2011_

It felt weird singing This Love again. Last time Adam’s voice echoed these lyrics was when he recorded the sample for Almatrax’s archive. Maroon 5—during their brief formation—picked This Love as their frontrunner. Which at least showed their aptitude, because Gwen Stefani skyrocketed that song to number one a week after its release.

This Love was the first one of Adam’s songs to throw its success in his face, which probably explained why this performance stung more than Harder to Breathe. Harder to Breathe became a hit about a year after Adam started his career at Almatrax. This Love followed Adam wherever he went during his first month as songwriter, the wound of failing as a musician still fresh.  It was like the universe dedicated itself to mocking him with Gwen Stefani’s incomparable voice.

This Love helped Adam transition from bitter musician to detached songwriter—a lesson Adam didn’t want but sure as fuck needed. He had to isolate himself from his music. He couldn’t cling to his songs like he desired. The detached mindset became easier after the songs from Maroon 5’s demo tape died in popularity.

Adam definitely blamed The Voice for his reawakened passion for his music. Particularly, the possessiveness that followed said passion. So many songs he wrote were only his in writing credit. But he wanted them in a much more tangible way. He didn’t want to ‘cover’ them. He wanted to own them.

“Adam?”

He blinked. A twitching Raelynn stood in front of him. Adam had escaped to the first practice room after Blake disbanded the group practice and was thoroughly distracted by Jermaine. Blake was too perceptive sometimes and he didn’t want his coach following him. Especially about something so petty.

“Hey, Rae,” Adam said, twirling on the piano bench. “What’s up?”

“You’re not mad, are you?”

At past things he couldn’t control, yes. But Adam clamped down those concerns, choosing to frown at the blonde. “No?”

Raelynn relaxed slightly, sitting next to him on the bench. “Are you sure? Because you didn’t seem like yourself during practice.”

Ah yes. When his sulking session started. Adam would force himself to lighten up next practice. He had to get over it. He refused to drag down the team’s performance and brooding over what ifs was pointless, especially since his singing career never looked better than it did right now. But allowing himself one day of pettiness seemed fair in the grand scheme of things. Adam cleared his throat. “I was just tired. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, you’re fine,” Raelynn said, playing with her braid. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with the song choice. I feel like I kind of forced it on y’all.”

“I’m alright,” Adam said. “No need to freak out.”

“Good,” she said. “I remembered you wrote it—”

“Really?”

“Obviously,” the cowgirl said. “And you didn’t seem that thrilled about singing it...”

“I was just surprised at first,” Adam said. “So, are your parents picking you up or do you need a ride?”

Raelynn grimaced. His initial relief of her accepting the abrupt conversation change faltered. “My mom is picking me up.”

“Your mom is nice,” Adam said.

Raelynn nodded her head, her previous smile vanishing. The teen really wore her heart on her sleeve.

“What’s up?”

“My parents are still skeptical of me pursuing a career as a musician,” Raelynn said. “They still think it’s impractical. I thought that The Voice would convince them that options are out there, especially since I’ve made it past the first two rounds. But no.”

“They just want what’s best for you,” Adam said.

Raelynn scoffed. “You’re not actually taking their side are you?”

“Rae, I know you can make it as a musician,” Adam said. “Your parents just want you to be happy and well-off. The finicky music industry is not usually what they have in mind. Trust me, my parents were the same. You just have to prove to them that you can do it.”

“How long did it take your parents?” Raelynn asked.

“Well, I toured with my first band right out of high school and went to a community college for a couple years after Kara’s Flowers inevitably failed,” Adam said. “Of course, me and the guys used community college to come up with our new sound. We thought our new band was invincible. But we ended up selling Maroon 5's songs to Almatrax a year later. By the time I landed my songwriting job, my parents were just relieved that I had a stable source of income. So yeah, I don’t think I’m the best example.”

“You mean making the music industry the lesser of the two evils isn’t the best choice?” Raelynn teased.

“Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do,” Adam said. "Your parents will come around eventually. If they don’t, you can just rub it in their face whenever you do succeed.”

Raelynn snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Besides, you have Blake,” Adam said, “and I hear that he dabbles in country music. I’m sure he’ll make himself useful somehow.”

“We can only hope.”

 

_August 2012_

“You ready?” Mickey asked.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Jordan reprimanded. “This isn’t a carnival.”

“It’s our first press scandal,” Mickey said. “This is exciting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Adam grunted, pushing sunglasses onto his face. He studied the lurking paparazzi warily. Already, they began shouting a few questions at the band, even though they were still in the relative seclusion of the hotel lobby. Fashion Week, and Maroon 5’s duties, was officially over. So they were flying out to LA this morning. Which the press knew. Hence the mass of paps as opposed to the usual dozen that hung around their hotel the past few days.

Adam sighed. He told Anne all he knew—so essentially the name of the prick—as soon as she followed him outside, Behati finally asleep. The fury in her eyes should have made him less surprised with how quickly she acted.

The next day, a couple models and Behati, with a glowering Anne always within arm’s reach, came forward. Apparently, Bradley’s roofie routine tormented models for at least four months. Bradley's contract with Victoria's Secret was promptly terminated, but he was not arrested. Which led to many late night drinks with the girls and furious tweets even Bryan gave up reprimanding him on. The media flocked towards this scandal, all the more public because it was Fashion Week. However, the Victoria Secret scandal took backseat when Adam, Behati, and Anne’s apparent affair surfaced.

It was ridiculous. Bradley had his five minutes of infamy then was immediately shuffled to the sidelines. The public and press latched onto this “threesome affair” with shocking intensity. All of which was sparked by Behati and Anne meeting Maroon 5 for lunch the day after Bradley’s termination and Anne kissing the frontman on the cheek as she left the runway during Maroon 5’s performance. The press pictures of him leading Behati—decked in his suit jacket—into his hotel the night before also made people lose their shit.

Photos of Adam hanging around both models—they were usually random shots of Adam wandering the streets of New York photoshopped next to a laughing Anne and Behati—splattered the tabloids the entire week. Fortunately, his black eye was successfully hidden behind layers of makeup, which Behati helpfully applied, cutting off the paparazzi’s potential speculation. Christ knows what bullshit they would spout out. He always knew tabloids were full of shit, but this was his first time on the other side of the equation.

At least his first sex scandal was a threesome. That was semi-impressive and flattering in a twisted way. Blake texted him that a speculated threesome usually occurred after at least two years in the public’s eye. Along with a stream of LOLs. Because he was dating an asshole.

“Adam,” James said, his hand shaking Adam away from his brooding, “your lovers are here.”

Adam blinked at the two models who now stood in the middle of the hotel lobby. The paps were in a frenzy behind the glass doors, the looming hotel security ensuring that none got pass the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought we’d swing by before your flight,” Anne said. “Who knows when the three of us will ever be in the same place again.”

“We’ll arrange something,” Behati said.

“But first we thought it’d be fun to cause a stir,” Anne said.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “More? I think we already broke the press.”

“That just means it’s time for them to die from shock,” Anne said. She waltzed forward, Behati trailing behind her. She brushed her lips against his cheek—very near his mouth—turning them so the press got a misleadingly raunchy angle. He could almost feel the flashes from the cameras increase.

“Thanks for that,” Adam said dryly. Anne smiled guilelessly at him.

“We had to give them something to talk about,” Anne whispered into his ear, winking before she wandered to the rest of his bandmates.

“B, have I mentioned how you’re my favorite?” Adam asked.

The model smiled. Her swelling died down a few days ago. The only token from the attack were light bruises deftly hidden by her makeup job and hairstyle. “You’re pretty high on my list too,” Behati said.

Adam sidled closer to Behati. Anne already fucked with the paps. It’s not like the frontman could make it worse. “How have you been?”

“Better,” Behati said. “I’m filing a restraining order.”

“Good. Maybe the dick will be arrested too,” Adam said.

“We will see,” Behati said. “The police are conducting an investigation now.”

“You know that—”

“I’ll send them your way if they need a statement,” she said.

“You’re so much more cooperative now,” Adam teased.

“I know the futility of arguing against you,” Behati said. “You’re very persistent.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” Adam said. He nodded at Jordan’s wave. “I have leave the safety of the hotel soon. I’ll see you, Behati. Call me if you’re ever in LA.”

“You know I will,” she said. “And Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Adam wrapped his arms around the model. Behati instantly clung to his back. Her hot breath puffed against his neck. He felt a damp stain spread on his shirt. “Oh, Behati...”

His hands rubbed her back. Their hug bypassed the social norm about thirty seconds ago. But Adam couldn’t bring himself to care. Not about the gawking people in the hotel or the future tabloid articles. All his attention was for Behati.

“I just did what anyone would do,” Adam said.

“You really didn’t,” Behati murmured, voice quivering. “Just...thank you. For everything.”

Behati stepped back, wiping her eyes. Adam rubbed her shoulder. “It’s absolutely no problem.”

She giggled softly. “I probably look like a very clingy girlfriend.”

“You’re the best tabloid girlfriend,” Adam reassured.

“Except for Blake?”

“I suppose he would make a decent tabloid girlfriend too,” Adam agreed. He glanced up. His bandmates and manager all stood awkwardly off to the side, while Anne looked prepared to sweep over to Behati as soon as she left Adam’s vicinity. “I seriously need to go though. If we miss our flight, Jordan will kill me.”

“Bye, Adam.”

 

* * *

 

The paparazzi were hell to get through. Adam had no idea how much he previously relied on Voice security (and later Blake’s security when they were on tour) until the paps’ clamoring hands and shouted questions hit Adam with no barrier. Jordan could only coordinate so much and the hotel security wouldn’t leave their post.

Of course, it was equally possible that he never dealt with such intensity because he never garnered this much attention until this week. But the band persevered and managed to climb into the SUV, making it to the airport on time. Just to have the flight get delayed two hours as soon as they entered the airport.

Now, Adam attempted to ignore the steadily growing, lingering crowd that stood off to the side of where the band sat in cramped chairs. His beanie could only mask his appearance so much.

He tapped out another beat on the plastic armchair until a nearby waiting businessman glared at him. The frontman sighed. “I’m walking around for a bit.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” James asked, eyeing the airport crowd. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“I’ll try to manage on my own,” Adam said. “I’m calling Blake anyway. I’ll die if I have to sit here for any longer.”

“I’m glad fame hasn’t made you dramatic,” Mickey said.

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving now.”

He smirked as the crowd actually stepped back when Adam got up. The frontman waved before beginning his trek around the terminal. His boyfriend, thankfully, answered his phone after one ring.

_“I feel like I should feel threatened.”_

“You probably should,” Adam answered, relaxing instantly. God, he didn’t realize how much he missed Blake’s voice until now. It felt like ages since they last talked on the phone. The southern drawl was magical. It covered Adam like a warm blanket. “By everything. Remain vigilant to outside threats. It’s the only way to survive the apocalypse.”

 _“I meant by Behati and Anne,”_ Blake said, completely butchering Behati’s name. _“There’s already at least ten articles released about your teary goodbye. But clearly you’re bored if you’re bringing up the apocalypse.”_

“Our flight got delayed,” Adam said. “As soon as we checked in. Do you think that buying a private jet would be a waste of money? I know it’s expensive as fuck but there would be no wait time.”

_“I’m sure it’d pay itself off in the long run. Besides, you could probably find a cheap one at an auction somewhere.”_

“True. I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Adam said. “I might have to find a friend who’s into planes. I can’t get a shitty cheap plane. I want a nice cheap plane. Or at least semi-decent. Like one that runs and won’t kill us.”

_“I’m glad you hold your safety to such high standards. Don’t forget you’d also have to pay for fuel, a pilot, and probably insurance.”_

Adam hummed. “Or—”

 _“Hire a pilot, darlin’,”_ Blake cut off. _“You shouldn’t fly planes.”_

“I’m a good driver,” Adam protested. “I could be a decent pilot.”

Blake had the audacity to chuckle at him. _“I’m sure your flight instructor will be delighted by your logic.”_

“They’ll be sufficiently enthralled,” Adam said, weaving between two clumps of slow moving families. “So how were the finals?”

_“You didn’t watch?”_

Adam hesitantly labeled Blake’s tone as teasing. But he knew better than anyone how much the country singer hid behind jokes. “It’s on my to-do list. Sorry, babe. I actually planned on watching it on the flight back to LA that way I have at least have one bright point during my flight. But I figured you would be the best person to spoil it for me. Did you choose the duet song I suggested?”

_“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and watch, rock star.”_

“Come on, Blake, give me something,” Adam pleaded. “Did you win?”

_“Nah, I’m not a contestant.”_

“Blake...”

_“Mercy did though.”_

Adam grinned. “That’s great! Congratulations! To her, of course. She probably did all the grunt work while you just smiled prettily for the cameras.”

_“With a drink in hand, Adam. It’s like you don’t know my coaching style at all.”_

“I would also like to take credit for Mercy choosing your team,” Adam said. “I saw her intro. She’s a big Maroon 5 fan.”

_“Actually meeting you disillusioned her.”_

“Disillusioned her into knowing musicians aren’t gods but delightfully human?”

_“You didn’t quite spin that like you meant to, I think. You made less sense than usual.”_

“Shut up. I’m tried.”

 _“Aww I didn’t realize what state you were in,”_ Blake said, deliberately slowing his speech enough that Adam rolled his eyes. _“So how was New York?”_

“I’m tired not uncomprehending,” Adam said.

_“There’s a difference?”_

Adam chose not to pursue that particular line of conversation. “I’ve been to New York before.”

_“I’d like to imagine this trip was a tad different.”_

“Just a hair,” Adam agreed. Blake was already well aware of Maroon 5’s eventful first night. Adam called his boyfriend as soon as the band, and later Anne, interrogated him. Luckily, 3am in New York was 11pm in LA and Blake just got back from the studio. “I wouldn’t mind never going through that again. It was terrifying.”

_“You did good, sweetheart. You were exactly what Behati needed.”_

“The night was hell, but I am glad I met Behati,” Adam said. “She’s a sweetheart. She didn’t deserve to have that happen to her... Not that anyone does, but you know what I’m saying.”

_“I understand you most of the time, unfortunately.”_

Adam snorted. “Ass.”

_“Is waiting eagerly for your return? I think so.”_

The frontman blinked, forcing his suddenly wobbly legs to keep moving. “We can’t do this right now.”

 _“I can’t get you all hot and bothered in public? I thought it would be fun to start another scandal.”_ Blake’s voice shifted between that irresistible mixture of lustful and teasing. Adam swallowed.

“So soon? I think Bryan would maim me,” Adam said. He not so casually scoped the terminal. He bit back a groan. Why the fuck did the guy’s bathroom choose _now_ to have a fucking line? “And I’ll drag you down with me.”

_“I’m touching myself right now.”_

Adam flushed, heat flooding his groin. “Jesus!”

_“Just Blake actually.”_

“I literally can’t do this right now,” Adam said, hating that his voice quivered. “I can’t go anywhere. It’s been ages sense we’ve done anything. You seriously need to stop.”

_“Sounds like somebody needs to get their mind out of the gutter.”_

“How else am I supposed to take ‘I’m touching myself’?” Adam sputtered. A nearby mom gasped at him, hauling her toddlers away with a glare. The frontman immediately ducked his head.

_“I can picture you now. Trying to keep your composure, telling yourself to tune me out, but knowing that you can’t help yourself.”_

“Fuck off,” Adam grunted.

_“But picture me. Stroking my cock, wishing this was you. Ah, fuck this feels good.”_

“Blake,” Adam groaned. Shit, he was already getting a semi. This cannot be happening.

_“I love it when you say my name like that. Like you can’t decide to kill me or fuck me.”_

The frontman closed his eyes. Pluto, exploding planes, screaming children...

 _“I’ve missed you in more ways than one,”_ Blake said, the heat in his voice making Adam shiver. _“I need your cock. In me, in my hands, in my mouth, I don’t care. You can have me any way you want me when you get here.”_

“You have to stop,” Adam pleaded, his voice already sounded ragged

_“You’ll feel so good that you’re not just going to scream my name, but forget yours.”_

Adam swallowed, heart thumping. Nothing existed but Blake’s voice. The country singer could manipulate him like no other. “Blake—”

“Hey are you Adam Levine?” a voice interrupted. Adam jerked, glancing up sharply. Three teenage girls stared back at him. Jesus Christ. This could not happen at a worse time. There was a moment of silence before their excited shrieks filled the air. Fuck, he needed to cool down immediately. Sandpaper, Grandparents, projectile vomit.

Blake’s cackle on the other side of the phone helped him transfer his desire to irritation.

“I have to go,” Adam muttered into the phone.

 _“Yeah, it sounds like you’re busy,”_ Blake chuckled. _“Don’t scar your fans.”_

Adam bit back curses. His boyfriend was so vexing. “I’ll call you when I land in LA, you complete dick.”

_“Do we really want to start with this again? Shockingly, dick, like ass, can lead to all sorts of fun conversations.”_

“I hate you so fucking much.”

Blake chuckled. _“I’ll see you tonight, darlin’.”_

“You owe me _so much_ ,” Adam said heatedly, hanging up on his boyfriend’s booming laugh. Blood-covered babies, dead parents, the Periodic Table. He smiled at the girls who gawked at the frontman. Please, for the love of God, have his smile not be construed as anything other than polite. “Hey, I’m Adam.”

The teenagers shrieked again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I don't even know what happened with this chapter. I expected it to be a shorter chapter (seriously, my only note for the 2012 sections was "Meet Behati" and then all of that happened. No regrets. Just surprise). Sorry Shevine was lacking this chapter. It kind of ran away from me... There will be more Shevine in the next chapter, I promise!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline
> 
> November 1991 – Blake comes out to a friend  
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer (Pharrell)  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 ¬– Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> May 2012 – Blake takes Adam hunting  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> August 2012 – Fashion Week: Victoria’s Secret fashion show  
> September 2012 – Blake and Adam go camping  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge 
> 
> So sorry for the very delayed update! I don't know what to say except life was very distracting and I kind of lost inspiration for this story for a bit. But thanks so much for waiting (and all the supportive reviews checking in between chapters) :) Enjoy!

_May 2015_

“What would you do if you weren’t singing?” Gwen asked.

Adam blinked, twisting from his seat in Blake’s lap. Heather called for a five minute break while she reviewed a tape or talked to the PAs or prepped the next singer or did one of the other billion things Heather did. “Was that directed towards me? Because I would choose songwriting. Obviously.”

“You can’t be involved in the music industry at all. That's cheating,” Gwen said. “That would be like Pharrell picking music producer.”

“Which I would totally allow in this hypothetical situation because I’m not a dictator,” Adam said.

Pharrell chuckled.

“And everyone thinks Gwen is so sweet,” Adam lamented to the crowd. “We’ll train them to accept the truth eventually.”

“Be nice to the blondie,” Blake scolded. “She is sweet.”

“Aww thanks, Blake,” Gwen said.

Adam stared at Blake. “She’s _sweet_?”

“She is,” Blake said, patting Adam’s leg.

“That’s beside the point,” Adam said before glancing at Gwen. “Love you, Gwen.”

“Love you too, Adam.”

“The point is you’re supposed to back me,” Adam said, turning back to Blake and most definitely not pouting.

“Blake, you made Adam sad,” Gwen scolded. “He’s pouting.”

Alright, he may be manfully frowning to broadcast his disapproval to a certain lumbering Bigfoot. A slightly different technique than pouting.

“I was defending you,” Blake frowned at Gwen.

She shrugged. “And I’m defending Adam.”

“And I’m disappointed in Blake,” Adam said, crossing his arms. Blake wrapped his arms around him undeterred. “I thought I could trust you to do one thing...”

“Can’t we just blame Gwen for all of this?” Blake asked. Gwen pressed a hand against her chest in mock hurt.

“I know,” Adam said, shifting to Gwen. “He turns on you fast. You don’t see it coming.”

“That’s what she said,” Blake said.

“Apparently she’s not good at her job then,” Adam retorted.

“Or maybe too good,” Blake mused.

Adam scoffed. “You’re ridiculous. Oh and back to the job thing. I think Pharrell would be CEO of some billionaire company because he deserves to be comfortable and happy.”

“Thanks, man,” Pharrell said.

“Gwen would be in charge of a fashion line,” Adam continued.

“I do that now,” Gwen said.

“Because it suits you and I’m not the rule dictator you are. And Blake,” Adam said, smirking at the country singer, “would be a hobo.”

“Why do y’all always have to be mean to me?” Blake said.

“Because you’re stupid,” Adam said gravely.

“Places,” Heather called.

Adam grinned, pecking Blake lightly on the lips, flushing at the audience’s hoots. He slid off Blake’s chair. “Good luck, Shelton. You’re going to need it.”

“Apparently,” Blake muttered. “Since it’s me against the world.”

“Should I prep the violins?” Gwen asked as Adam jumped into his red chair.

“You might have to bring out the tiny ones,” Adam said. “To complement Blake’s pain.”

They cackled, waving at Blake’s unimpressed face. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Stop pouting in 3...2...now,” Heather said, signaling for the lights to dim.

“See? Even Heather is against me,” Blake stage-whispered to Adam.

Adam shrugged.

“Oh, _now_ you choose to be the model coach?”

“Shelton, don’t make me gag you,” Heather said.

Adam chuckled. But Heather simply rolled her eyes and signaled for the next contestant.

 

_June 2011_

Plaza’s Newton cradle clinked back and forth on his desk. Adam sprawled in one of the black leather chairs, hoping his lax posture would inspire his nerves to follow suit and settle down. It was a working theory.

Adam released a breath. The only change in the Alamatrax producer’s office over the years were the additional platinum award winning artists not-so-subtly placed on his wall of fame. Everything else—the imposing desk and firm chairs—were unchanged since Adam’s original visit a decade ago.

His eyes refocused on the swinging silver balls. Plaza had yet to grace him with his presence. Adam methodically clamped down on his wave on unease. Despite years of working with Plaza, the producer’s habit of making people stew while he was late to his own meeting was still unnervingly effective. Plaza demanded Adam meet him today when the songwriter’s original plan of quietly turning in his lyrics for the new Gym Class Heroes’ song failed.

Plaza couldn’t be too unreasonably upset that Adam took secured music off the premise. Travie rapidly got over his original panic and irritation when he deemed Adam’s lyrics worthy and the songwriter responsible. Besides, it’s not like Adam was the first songwriter or music producer to casually take studio music home. Plaza was probably more irritated on the principle, honestly. The producer despised surprises. 

He forcibly stopped his drumming fingers. He refused to be anything other than the picture of nonchalance whenever Plaza finally got his dramatic ass in here. Hazel eyes flickered to the clock. Fifteen minutes after their original meeting time. He smirked. Because even Plaza’s delays were on a schedule.

“Terribly sorry for the wait,” Plaza said, bursting into the room, his sincerity sincerely insincere. His sliver suit gleamed in the fluorescent lighting, his black tie clipped neatly on his burgundy shirt. He looked every inch the professional producer. Adam smirked at Plaza’s grimace as he took in Adam’s torn t-shirt and jeans. His blatant disregard to Plaza’s dress standards never failed to irk the producer. It may have been the reason Adam deliberated between his five-year-old t-shirt or stained button down.  In the end, he decided the stain wasn’t obnoxious enough for the occasion. “I bumped into a client in the hallway. I never meant to keep you waiting.”

Adam nodded along with the ruse as Plaza leisurely paced around the desk and sat in his tall-back chair. He grimaced. It was probably just better to bite the bullet on the head, especially since there were no bystanders to reign in Plaza’s temper. Adam straightened.

Besides, his cooperation was bound to throw Plaza off.

“It’s no problem,” Adam said. “I’m actually pleased you could squeeze me into your schedule. I wanted to apologize in person.”

Plaza’s easy grin—Adam shifted uneasily. He assumed that Plaza was past faking politeness to him—didn’t falter. “Oh? For what?”

Of course he would drag it out of him. “I took the Gym Class Heroes song without permission. I wasn’t involved in that contract and I’m sorry.”

“Oh Adam,” the producer chuckled lightly. “You think I give a fuck about you taking some of their music off of Almatrax property?” Plaza asked, face twisting. Adam blinked. At least his façade faded within the first 30 seconds. That was almost refreshing, but it left Adam floundering. His knee began bouncing up and forth on its own accord. “I know your self-serving tricks, Levine. What? Now that you’re on The Voice you suddenly want to try and be a singer again? I thought you gave up on that pipedream years ago.”

“Do you seriously think that I conned Travie into using my vocals?” Adam asked. He didn’t even know how he accomplished that feat on accident. Planning it seemed impossible.

“I know you did,” Plaza snapped. “Unless it’s coincidence that you just so happened to show Travie your lyrics—not that I care, which lyrics he chose. Fuck, this album should’ve been released months ago—and now suddenly it’s not only your lyrics but voice too? You expect to just sit quietly? The moment you decide to get back into the singing game, you stumble across a record deal. This is beyond convenient.”

“It was Travie’s idea,” Adam said, eyes narrowing. “His manager told you that.”

“Yes, his manager,” Plaza said, “not you.”

“I told you earlier this week,” Adam said.

“You attempted to turn in your lyrics to Stacy,” Plaza corrected. “You made no mention of your new _featured_ status.”

Because of this exact reason. The only thing Plaza hated worse than surprises was being proven wrong. Adam featuring on a prominent song threatened Plaza’s past decisions and reputation—at least to Plaza. “I was getting to it...”

“As your boss, I expect more than an ‘I was getting to it,’ ” Plaza spat. “You made a decision so far above your paygrade.”

“I didn’t make the decision,” Adam said. “It was Travie. The client. Who is above _your_ paygrade.”

Plaza scoffed.  “I know you, Levine. You’re a squirmy son of a bitch. If you want something, you make it happen. Of course, I always thought you were at least realistic. Case and point: You aimed to be a vocalist until you discovered how better suited you were for songwriting. if you were good enough you would have sung your hit songs long ago.”

“Fuck off,” Adam said. “I thought The Voice would make even you grasp that I’m still interested in singing.”

“Interest does not equate to success,” Plaza said. “Do you really want to entrust a _reality show_ with you career? Enough so that you'll run your current one to the ground?”

“The Voice is different,” Adam muttered.

“Is it?” Plaza mocked. “It’s gives singers their five minutes of fame until the public forgets them at the end of the season. Like every other competition show in the world. The Voice is another Idol minus the sporatic success stories. Do you know where the last Idol winner is now? Fuck, do you know where season 1 winner of your precious Voice is? No one fucking knows because the ‘winners’ faded back into the unknown pits of the music industry.”

A month ago, Adam would be the first person to agree with Plaza. The Voice had the setup like every other reality show—high stake competition, a plethora of talent, and quick fire eliminations. It would be like every other reality show if it weren’t for one factor: the mentors. Blake restored _so much_ in Adam that he didn’t know how he functioned properly pre-Blake. He shouldn’t be so reliant on someone he essentially just met, but Blake ingrained himself in Adam so easily. His mentor was rapidly becoming the person Adam trusted most when it came to his vocals. Blake was too bluntly sincere to lead him astray.

And Blake said he could make it.

“Why do you care what I do? Pissed that you bypassed me all those years ago when it’s obvious that I would’ve been successful? If you—Almatrax’s top recruiter—failed with me, who else have you ignored?” Adam kept his questions rapid. Accuracy was not his aim. Instead he was intent on pressing most to all of Plaza’s buttons. The producer scowled. The songwriter hid a smirk.

“I _care_ because your presence caused a rift between me and my client, a rift between me and my boss. The fact that you technically stole Gym Class Heroes' music didn’t bleep their radar. Do you want to know what their main complaint was?” Plaza asked. “That I _hid_ you from them.”

Adam frowned despite himself. “They would have access to my lyrics—”

“No, you conniving bastard,” Plaza interrupted, “that I hid such a ‘skilled, yet miraculously unknown’—in all the ways that matter—singer from them. I don’t give a fuck that you went behind my back and sold them on unofficial lyrics. Frankly, Suzie should be the one pissed about you demeaning her accomplishments. I care that you used an opportunity without my direct supervision to solicit yourself as their singer. You should know better than to use my clients for your own personal gain.”

Adam stared. “So that’s it then. I don’t know why I expected your pissy attitude to branch from something at least relating to logic. You’re irked that I’m still successful despite your rejection. You realize the music industry thrived long before you ever entered the scene.”

“Don’t be so self-centered, Levine,” Plaza said. “This is about the chain of command. Not your pathetic pipedream.”

“Is it? Then get to your point,” Adam snapped. “The only thing I did wrong was take secured music home and you made it clear you don’t give a shit about that. All you’ve done since you came in here was bitch about Travie—your _client_ —deciding to feature me in his song. Which is his decision, by the way.”

“I don’t think you realize how lucky you are to still hold a job at Almatrax,” Plaza said. “Your attitude and self-serving tendencies should have sent you right out those doors years ago.”

“If they kept your two-face, there’s no way they’d get rid of me,” Adam said. “I’ve been on fire since I started. Everyone knows it.”

“No, only Almatrax knows it,” Plaza said. “Most of your writing credits are under the generic Almatrax label. We can undermine your accomplishments so quickly. Who do you think prospective employers will believe? Your fucking Wikipedia page or the largest music studio in LA?”

Adam glared. “You can’t blackmail me.”

“What blackmail?” Plaza asked. “This is the real world. If you wanted sole writing credit, you shouldn’t have collaborated with the other songwriters.”

“You can’t just—”

“Oh but I can,” Plaza said. “So easily.”

“I’ll go to Janet,” Adam threatened. He rarely talked to the Almatrax CEO, but she had a reputation of being fair (She also had a reputation of breathing fire and making interns faint, but Adam ignored that for now). “I’m completely willing to go over your head.”

“And who will Janet believe?” Plaza said. “You produce songs, yes. But your attitude is appalling, dress admonishable, you never come in before 10—”

“You know that I stay here until its dark,” Adam said.

“I do,” Plaza agreed. “But Janet is a fan of early birds. Why do you think I always get here at 7? Oh wait, you wouldn’t.”

“Get off your high horse. Almatrax cares about results. I’ve been writing radio hits for years. I have not been passing on successful singers,” Adam snapped. “Just fucking send an email next time you want to brag about your work schedule and flaunt your authority. Don’t waste my time.”

“ _I want_ you to get your head out of the clouds,” Plaza said. “You’re not a vocalist. You’re a songwriter. After The Voice spits you back out and the public forgets your face, Almatrax will still have need of you. We have a position for you as a songwriter, not a vocalist. How many other employers just hold a position when their employees fuck off to the nearest TV set for months?

“Forget your daydream. Be a realist again. You know you can’t succeed in the music industry. You’ve seen too many actually talented singers never scrape past an EP. Your voice isn’t special. You know what is? Your songwriting. Just stick to that,” Plaza said, beginning to straighten up papers on his desk. “Now, I’ll let you sing for Gym Class Heroes, but after that—”

“Fuck you,” Adam said, clenching his fists. He barely registered those words before they flew out of his mouth. But no regret followed. Plaza sputtered, his eyebrows shooting up. Like he didn’t expect anything but a meek agreement to his accusations.

Christ, why did Adam never cut off Plaza’s rants before?

“ _Excuse_ you,” Plaza said. “Don’t think for a second that your songs allows you to be blatantly disrespectful—”

“Fuck you,” Adam repeated. “Are you seriously going to pull this shit on me again? I don’t need you. You’re such an unnecessary fixture in my life. I don’t need you constantly telling me what a failure I am. I can’t believe I didn’t do this earlier...”

“You do need me to give you employment,” Plaza said sweetly. “Don’t get high and mighty, Adam. Let’s not make starving musician a literal title. This is just a warning for you to not overstep your boundaries again. Don't make this meeting a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

Adam’s mind buzzed, nothing staying in focus long enough for him to comprehend it. Just flashes and a blur of emotions. The sting of rejection, the satisfaction in songwriting, the brutality of the music industry, and it’s beauty. He released a breath, taking in Plaza’s smug face. Adam auditioning for The Voice, Blake rejuvenating his passion for singing...

Now wasn’t the time for thinking. He swallowed. He would either instantly regret the impulsive decision that followed or combust with relief. He cleared his mind and just let words tumble out.

“Not anymore,” Adam said. “I quit.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Levine,” Plaza dismissed, looking entirely unruffled. But Adam caught Plaza’s momentary raised eyebrows and parted mouth. He was rattled. “You need Almatrax. Need I remind you of your contract? You can’t even work as a janitor for another music label for the next five years. More than enough time to make you a distant memory in the music industry.”

“I don’t care,” Adam said. He should have quit long ago. But he was cowed by Plaza and swayed by Almatrax’s stability. The looming threat of unemployment and complete lack of faith in his own ability kept him in line. But sometimes a dream required you to defy logic and every practical honed instinct and dig deeper. And, God damn it, Adam would sing until he died. Even if that meant being a hobo performing on the side of the street. What was the point of going through the motions of life if he wasn’t happy?

Why did it take until the intensity of The Voice—Blake—to reignite his love of singing? Why did he ever give it up in the first place? “Need I remind _you_ that I don’t need your permission to sing Stereo Hearts? Gym Class Heroes has creative control. Remember?”

“Are you really putting your eggs in one basket?” Plaza said. “Succeed as a vocalist or nothing? You’re not even the most gifted singer on that _show_ , let alone the entire music industry. What makes you think you’ll succeed where so many have failed?”

Adam released a sigh. Plaza wouldn’t control his future. Not again. Not when he had people outside his friends and family whose faith was as unwavering as it was daunting. “That’s not your problem, is it?”

Plaza stared at Adam. The firm, neutral mask protected his face from anything as mundane as emotions. But not even his usual poker face could conceal the confusion in his eyes.

He snapped out of his daze soon enough. “Fine, Levine,” Plaza said dismissively. “Clear your desk. I’m giving you a one week grace period where you can grovel and I’ll consider giving you back your job. After that, you’re on your own.”

“I won’t be coming back,” Adam said.

Plaza snorted. “We’ll see how long that attitude lasts after your first rounds of bills. Security will escort you to your desk. Give Larry all of your notebooks. Anything that you wrote during your employment at Almatrax is still Almatrax property. We can’t have you stealing from us.”

“Those were my ideas,” Adam protested. Most of the ideas featured in his notebooks were half-formed and fleeting. But his possessive streak demanded that all remained his, especially if he was venturing out on his musical lonesome.

“Exactly, were,” Plaza said, eyes flickering to the door. “Get out of my sight.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t forget to leave all notebooks with me,” Larry, the Almatrax security guard, said.

“What about the blank ones?” Adam asked dryly. Plaza’s ‘get out of my sight’ was followed very closely by a knock on the door from one of Almatrax’s security guards, Larry. Even when events weren’t going his way, Plaza was still infuriatingly in control. Larry unsubtly escorted Adam to his desk, never allowing him to stray more than three feet away. Any notion the songwriter—ex-songwriter—had of pretending this was like any other day flew out the window. The songwriters—most of them present, depressingly—noticed the tension upon their abrupt arrival immediately. Their greetings petered into awkward silence as Larry unnecessarily prodded Adam towards his desk. Needless to say, Adam’s desk stood empty in record time.

“Just the ones you used. Anything you wrote is Almatrax’s property,” Larry parroted, too professional or humorless to acknowledge Adam’s sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah, I left all the notebooks on the desk,” he said, feeling the eyes of his coworkers bore into him. He hefted up the box filled with random belongings that accumulated over the years. Adam changed desks once during his entire time at Almatrax, though he used his desk more like a storage unit than a place to write. Even the songwriters’ open work area was usually too stifling for him. “Now, I’m assuming Plaza wants me off the premise?

“You don’t want to stay and chat?” Suzie called from a nearby, heavily cushioned chair. Her neon purple headphones hung loosely around her neck. “I need to beat Adam for snatching Stereo Hearts from my writing credit. Do you know how long I slaved over those lyrics?”

Adam smirked at his brunette friend, her hair cut short again. Larry huffed behind him, the first human display of emotion Adam noticed. “Some people got it, some people don’t.”

“That’s probably the worst apology I ever heard,” the folk songwriter decided.

“Eh, I don’t know if I’d qualify that as an apology,” Adam said.

“Where’s your black notebook?” Larry interrupted, apparently using Adam’s conversation as an excuse to remain forever productive and catalogue his—Alamtrax’s property. Adam suddenly wished he left the songwriter room when Larry first prompted.

Adam tensed. He had a shit ton of notebooks. He didn’t know how many until he cleared out his desk. But the black one, vague description aside, was easily his most used one. Crossed out lyrics and half thought out tunes littered its pages. Currently, the notebook was burning a hole in Adam’s back pocket, where he managed to shove it when Larry opened the door at Suzie’s arrival. Adam pointed to his old desk. “On there probably.”

Larry shuffled picked up the discarded notebooks, flipping through their mostly blank pages. Adam pretended he wasn’t entirely frozen.

“Mr. Plaza told me to look out for an almost filled, black notebook,” Larry said. “He doesn’t want you stealing any Almatrax lyrics.”

Adam swallowed his angry retort. That would only make him look guilty. He could not let Plaza win this last round—even though Plaza knowing about Adam’s main notebook made him increasingly uneasy. What else did Plaza notice?

Most of Adam’s song ideas were in that black notebook, songs not yet brought to Almatrax’s attention. He told himself over the years that he kept these songs quiet because they never suited the other artists. Adam could now acknowledge he remained an unnecessarily possessive bastard. But he was grateful for his possessive tendencies that remained even when he was at his lowest. Those songs would be incredibly useful. If he could smuggle the notebook out of Almatrax anyway.

Thank God he chose the most generic notebook to be his primary one. There were probably seven black notebooks on his desk alone.

“I don’t know, man, those are all of my notebooks,” Adam said. “Plaza probably just always saw me with different black notebooks and assumed they were the same one.”

“Mr. Plaza was very specific,” Larry said.

Why did he have to be one of the security guards Adam never bonded with? He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Larry studied him. “I think I’ll have to body search you.”

“Is that really necessary?” Adam asked, taking a step back. “Fucking hell, you have all of my shit. What more do you want?”

“Calm down, Mr. Levine,” Larry said.

“Go fu—”

“What’s going on?” The new voice didn’t yell—it rarely did—but, shit, Adam had never been more relieved to hear him.

“Trevor! Thank God. Larry wants to cavity search me,” Adam said, ignoring the guard’s protest.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed, pushing up his glasses. His wispy hair and rumpled appearance was the definition of unimposing. But Trevor was the head songwriter. He didn’t obtain that position by politely waiting for it. Trevor and Adam entered many heated debates throughout the years, but the only thing that made Trevor angrier than procrastinating or distracted songwriters were aggressive outside forces. Even if it was towards ex-songwriters.

Larry took a sheepish step away from Adam. “I believe he is in possession of a black notebook Mr. Plaza requires.”

“That doesn’t explain what’s going on,” Trevor said.

“I quit and Plaza is bitter,” Adam said flatly. He ignored the instant murmurs from the other songwriters. Trevor studied him briefly from above his glasses.

“I can’t risk Mr. Levine leaving with Almatrax possessions,” Larry said.

“Almatrax possessions he wrote,” Trevor said mildly. “It’s not like he can sell those lyrics to the competition. Plaza would sue him before Adam stepped through the entrance of another music studio. He has no reason to hide this supposed other notebook.”

“The contract has nothing against Mr. Levine songwriting for personal use,” Larry said stiffly, “which is why it’s detrimental to ensure all his written material is here.”

Trevor cocked his head, turning towards Adam. His green gaze drilled into him. “You’re going for it?”

“That’s the plan,” Adam said.

Trevor's face brightened. Adam blinked. “Good. I was hoping The Voice would kick your ass into gear.”

“But you hate singing competitions,” Adam said.

“I hate Idol and the X-Factor,” Trevor corrected.

“But The Voice—”

“The Voice has more experienced help,” Trevor said. “Their mentors have connections and actually care about the contestants and their future.”

“That is verbatim was James said,” Adam said, eyes narrowing. “I am suddenly wary of you.”

“Who do you think was the one that convinced Stacy to give James access to your old recordings?”

A throat cleared. “I still need to find that black notebook,” Larry said.

“Looks like Adam has at least fifteen notebooks on his desk,” Trevor said slowly. “I would suggest searching there.”

“Those are only partially filled. They don’t meet—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Suzie snapped. “I use a black notebook all the time. Plaza was probably thinking about me. Stop stalling. He already gave up his entire stash.”

Larry blinked. “Are you certain?”

Suzie glared at him, standing up to loom over the security guard with her 6 foot frame. “How could I not be certain? I’ve worked with Adam for nine years and I’ve been up close and personal with my _black_ notebook for over a year. Of course, I’m certain. So do me a favor and stop wasting everyone’s time. Unlike yours, my time is actually worth something.”

Larry sputtered, turning indignantly to Trevor. Suzie winked at Adam as soon as the guard’s gaze was averted. God, he loved Suzie.

Trevor slurped his coffee. “I’m assuming you’ll escort Adam off the premise now? Plaza is the type to pull that unnecessary stunt.”

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “Now I wish we took bets.”

Larry flushed. “This way, Mr. Levine.”

“See you later, guys,” Adam grinned, waving cockily as Larry briskly marched to the door.

“We’ll cheer for you during our viewing party,” Suzie said.

Adam groaned. “I really wanted James to be joking when he mentioned them.”

“Don’t be naïve, Levine,” Suzie tsked.

“We really must go,” Larry prompted, hovering awkwardly by the door. He kept shooting Suzie worried looks.

“Must we?” Adam asked.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Trevor said.

“You’re not my boss. I can tell you to fuck off now,” Adam said.

Trevor chuckled. “Good luck, Adam.”

_September 2012_

Adam let his boyfriend mope for two seconds before he crawled next to him, snuggling against Blake’s wet plaid shirt. Blake wrapped an arm around Adam, but his blue eyes didn’t leave the dark green tarp of the tent. Heavy rain pummeled their thin walls.

“You didn’t know it would be this bad,” Adam said.

The flat line of his mouth didn’t twitch. Blake’s cheerfulness washed away with the storm. When the duo first hiked their way up to the Oklahoma camping spot, the clouds were few and spirits were high. Touring deeply cut into Adam and Blake’s alone time. Adam missed Blake an absurd amount, which he would feel insecure about if it wasn’t obvious his boyfriend was on the exact same wavelength.

Adam detoured from Maroon 5’s return trip to LA, landing in Oklahoma City and renting a car to drive to Tishomingo. Needless to say, they didn’t leave Blake’s house for a few days. However, while the ‘welcome back’ sex was fantastic (along with the ‘I missed you’ sex and ‘congrats on touring’ sex and really just a lot of inexcusable sex in weird places), they spent more time teasing and giggling than anything else. The duo was unapologetically attached to the hip. Their evening trends were to cuddle on Blake’s patio or couch, talking for hours or sitting in silence. It was sickeningly mundane and Adam wouldn’t trade it for any number of sold out venues.

They were entering the fourth day when Blake decided “the city boy needed to rough it” and he herded Adam to his already packed truck—fuck knows how early Blake woke up to accomplish that—and then drove for forty minutes and hiked for two hours to Blake’s usual campsite.

Their campsite was on top of a hill that overlooked a tiny creek, which was what every apt campsite needed Adam supposed. But he knew shit about camping. Which Blake mocked him endlessly for, especially when he attempted—and promptly failed—to set up the tent. But Adam tricked Blake into saying crick at least three times so who was the real winner?

The rain fell an hour after they set up camp. Adam and Blake ignored the drizzle until the rain turned into a downpour. That’s when they escaped to the tent, hoping the storm would pass.

It hadn’t. Not even an hour later.

“I can’t believe that I didn’t check the weather,” Blake muttered.

“You did. There was a 20% chance of rain,” Adam said as lightening cracked. “As much as I respect your outdoorsy experience, my expectations don’t require you to know when every freak storm will suddenly appear.”

“I know...” Blake said, still not looking at Adam. The country singer sighed.

Adam dug his chin into Blake’s shoulder. “Blake, who rained on your parade?”

He leveled Adam with an unimpressed look.

“Come on,” Adam said, prodding Blake. “Lighten up. It’ll go away by tomorrow and then you can have the joy of tormenting me as I inevitably slide and fall in the mud.”

A half smile crossed Blake’s face. “You’ll look like even more of a moron than normal.”

“If you think that I won’t mud tackle you, you are mistaken, good sir.”

Blake chuckled, resting his cheek against Adam’s hair. He released a sigh. “Rain always makes me think of Richie, especially storms like this. It was raining cats and dogs the night he crashed.”

The frontman blinked as he tightened his arm around Blake. Not exactly the response he expected. His boyfriend rarely talked about his brother. He swallowed, hoping Blake would continue.

“He was my best friend. I should have annoyed him most of the time—he was a good decade older than me. I would’ve killed me—but Richie...he didn’t mind. At all. He was always taking me into town, out hunting or mudding, playing football, everything really. He’s the one who introduced me to country music,” Blake said. “Just...we talked about everything. He was the person I went to for everything. Shaving, driving, flirting. I could talk to him about anything...”

“He sounds great,” Adam said as the country singer trailed off.

“He was,” Blake said, warm breath puffing against his hair. The country singer hesitated. “How did you come out?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” Adam said lightly, not questioning the non sequitur, “Michael came out and I said ditto.”

Blake paused. “Really?”

“Yeah, I knew Michael was gay instantly. The entire family did, honestly. I didn’t realize I was gay until middle school when I was still eh about girls but guys remained appealing, which really should have clued me in sooner,” Adam said, shifting up to stare at Blake. His blue eyes were distant. “Michael came to terms with his sexuality way sooner than I did mine. But he was anxious—stupidly—and I didn’t want to be the center of attention when I told my parents. Coming out together seemed like the logical solution.”

“That must’ve been nice,” Blake said. “Having someone to stand by you.”

“It was,” Adam said. “Not that I was ever worried about my family’s reaction. They’re a very open bunch.”

Blake just swallowed.

“So how about you?” Adam prompted hesitantly. “Did you coming out break every girl’s heart?”

“Projecting, darlin’?”

“Yeah, the ADHD and bad hair attracted all the ladies.” His pet name didn’t distract Adam from Blake’s increasingly stiffening body. Unease twisted in his stomach. “...Blake?”

He released a sigh. “It’s nothing traumatic. It’s not like I was beat when I came out.”

Adam flinched. “Jesus, Blake, was that supposed to make me feel better?”  

“I mean, yeah,” Blake sputtered.

“It didn’t, babe,” Adam said, reaching up to tilt Blake’s face toward him. “Now, what happened?”

“The expected.”

 

_November 1991_

Another rock cut through the air, skipping off the glistening pond before sinking with a plop. The ripples spread outwards, small waves eventually swelling back to his feet. Blake had forced himself to lounge on a nearby log upon Coby's arrival. His faux ease was optimistically normal. He knew that pacing would set Coby on edge. If his friend wasn’t already by Blake’s abrupt request to meet him alone.

But Coby was his best friend. They’d been friends since before they could talk. A lucky coincidence considering that they would either love or hate each other due to all of their forced interactions. Their parents were fond of lumping them together any time the families hung out, which was often.

He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate on the hastily written note stuffed in Coby’s locker. Just...Blake had to tell somebody. The pressure weighed down on him until he felt like could barely move. He hadn’t breathed a word of his...inclinations since Richie. His older brother promised to stand by him when he came out to the rest of their family, acting as his very needed, unwavering support under his parent's frowns and inevitable questions.

But then Richie was in a car accident and—

“How ya doing, Shelley?”

Blake released a breath. Thoughts of Richie never really faded, but they had been consuming him more and more lately. Not that Blake could even fake surprise. The first anniversary of his brother’s death was approaching. He was torn between breaking down and pretending nothing happened.

Coby stomped his way noisily towards the log. This was the first time in eleven months that Blake came out to somebody. Not that he was out to Coby. Yet. Coming out to a friend first seemed less daunting than his parents. At least in theory. Now, with his redheaded friend trekking over, he was terrified.

“You talk a lot of smack for someone with a girl’s name,” Blake said, tone almost passing for normal.

Coby shrugged, leaning against a nearby oak. His posture read as nonchalance. It was his darks eyes, flickering towards Blake and then back to the pond that held apprehension. “You meet one girl named Coby...”

“One is really all it takes,” Blake said, picking up another rock.

“You call me out here just to make fun of my name?” Coby asked, his perpetual frown deepening.

Blake’s mouth dried. He blurted his coming out to Richie when they were driving back from the grocery store. He hadn’t meant to even hint at his feelings during that trip—their only goal was to grab soda and hamburger patties for the party—but somehow ‘shut up’ turned into ‘I’m gay.’ The only thing that prevented Blake’s panic attack was Richie pulling off the side of the road and engulfing him in a hug. They planned to have Blake come out a couple weeks later, once their house was empty of excess visitors.

But life had other plans.

“It’s always a fun pastime of mine,” Blake said, refocusing on Coby.

“I’m not gonna draw this out of you,” Coby said. He should have known that Coby’s blunt nature wouldn’t halt his stalling. “You’re the one who left the cryptic message. I even had strict instructions to come completely alone. You’re lucky that I’ve known you since we puked on our moms and that you don’t have a murderous bone in your body. It’s my turn to get answers.”

“I know, I just...” Blake stammered. Why was this so much harder? Blake swallowed. He wanted— _needed_ —someone on his side when he came out to his parents. His dad muttered enough about “queer folk” that Blake knew he needed backup. Endy, his older sister, was closely considered. However, she was 150 miles away at college and not close enough to handle her closeted brother’s predicament. He bounced around the idea of waiting until her winter break but ultimately decided he couldn’t wait that long. Blake kept quiet about his—discovered? Latent? Blake’s own feelings and the town’s angry murmurings about homosexual people tangled in his head as one confusing mass—sexuality.

Honestly, Blake always assumed he was a late bloomer or that his small Oklahoma town just didn’t have his type of girl. Until one of Richie’s friends, of the male persuasion, visited from out of town. Many wet dreams that summer proved he anticipated his attraction for the wrong gender entirely. Which was a small part relief and a large part terror.

Small Oklahoma towns didn’t have gay people. Blake nearly convinced himself that his sexuality was a fluke, especially when the unwavering column of support offered by Richie met an untimely extinguishment. The rough edges of the rock dug into his fingers. He didn’t want to be different from everyone he knew. He just wanted to fit in—ask a girl out to prom, lose his virginity, high-five his friends, eventually settle down with a loving family and a couple kids.

But no. Blake remained different.

His dates with a Sammy-Jo were a last ditch effort that accomplished nothing. He half-hoped that a kiss would change things, awaken his urges. But her curves were too soft, her lips too much like strawberries, the swell of her breasts too foreign. Every time they did anything close to fooling around, Blake was too concentrated by the simple fact that Sammy-Jo was a girl and determined to have a reaction to her—any type of reaction—to relax. His unimpressed dick always led to him stopping things before they escalated, which added to his southern gentleman charm, but increased Sammy-Jo’s eventual irritation.

His break up with Sammy-Jo was inevitable. He didn’t have a choice. She kept trying to turn their make-out sessions more heated. But Blake wasn’t attracted to her and he couldn’t have Sammy-Jo discover why. She was bemused by the abrupt break up to say the least, but her confusion melted into betrayal soon enough. They had been dating for nearly two months and they had every outward appearance of going strong. They got along surprisingly well—his immature humor not daunting her too much—and shared enough similar interests to keep their conversation always flowing. But his heart pounded for all the wrong reasons when they were alone together.

“Is this about Sammy-Jo?” Coby asked. “She’s pissed now but you could probably get back with her if you groveled enough and bought her shit. That’s what Dad always told me to do.”

“No, it’s not Sammy,” Blake said. Even though the glares he received from her and her friends certainly didn’t relieve his stress.

“How about you get your thoughts together and I just talk about stuff?” Coby said, dark eyes never leaving Blake’s face as he began to prattle about baseball without prompting. Blake was grateful for the incessant noise. It made their meeting feel less forced.

Blake almost wished he lived in a city. Not a big city. A place with a population over 5,000 people, frankly, sounded terrifying. But at least in the city, the idea of gay people wasn’t completely scorned and foreign. At least a city had people Blake could potentially talk to. He just wanted some guidance. Any guidance.

“Oh hey, you probably didn’t hear about this since you ran off as soon as school let out,” Coby said.

“What?” Blake asked. For someone who prided themselves in mocking other people’s sense of dramatics, Coby certainly beat around the bush when the situation suited him. And Blake was more than willing to cater if that meant he could stall more.

“You know that new kid, Eric?” Coby asked.

Blake nodded. The Roberts were a phenomenon. They moved from Australia to Ada, Oklahoma—of all places—six months ago. Eric was a couple grades older, not that something as feeble as differing grades was enough to deter Blake from socializing, but this past year hadn’t been his best. Blake could barely force himself to talk to longtime friends let alone make new ones. Honestly, Coby was his only friend that didn’t eventually grow irritated by Blake in the later months—his other friends were sympathetic when Richie first died, but there was an allotted amount of grieving time that he apparently surpassed.

But he and Coby had been friends since before they had teeth. Coby knew him better than just about anybody. The only people closer were his siblings—sibling. It was the main reason Blake asked Coby to creepily meet him by the pond today and not somebody else.

“He told Sue that he’s gay, Sue told Todd, so, naturally, the whole school knows,” Coby said. “I’m sure most of the parents know by now too.”

“Eric is _gay_?” Blake repeated, thoughts instantly derailing. What? His heart thudded. He had no idea. Not a single inkling that another gay person was in Ada. Not that he would. Eric didn’t look gay—course, neither did Blake—and he rarely talked to the boy.

Even though this probably meant his gaydar was skewed.

Hope swelled in Blake. Someone like Eric was an option he never bothered to consider. To think that there was someone actually in Ada he could talk to, someone who understood all the specifics of his situation. Except maybe the parental rebuke. Australian parents were an odd bunch, but seemed more accepting than say Blake’s dad.

But damn, what a relief. Gone was Blake mulling around, wistfully wishing for advice and tips. Now an opportunity practically fell into his lap—

“That fag was on our baseball team!” Coby cried. “Think of all the times he peeked at the team changing.”

His thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?”

“Come on, Shelley,” Coby said. Blake could only stare gapingly. “You know that he couldn’t help himself. Those types rarely can.”

“But he just—I mean, he probably didn’t peek at the baseball team,” Blake said, shrinking as Coby’s exclamations grew louder.

Coby’s gaze grew pitying. “Fags are good for nothing but lying and dying. That’s what Dad always said.”

Blake recoiled as if struck. His friend continued, oblivious.

“Thank the Lord that he’ll at least get kicked off the team,” Coby said.

“But, I thought he was good. Your best pitcher,” Blake said quietly. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Coby’s sneer. It was like Coby stabbed him with an icy knife. A numb feeling swirled in his chest before slowly swirling outwards until there was nothing but a dull buzz.

Coby snorted. “Who cares? Do you think our parents will stand for a queer in the outfield? I know for a fact that our dads will lead the charge. They’ll probably start talk about him molesting the team or something. Coach won’t stand for that.”

Blake’s defense dried in his throat in the face of Coby’s matter-of-fact dismissal. Blake had been audience to multiple “damned queer folk” lectures. But he assumed—hoped—that all of his and Coby’s scoffs about their parents’ old fashioned opinions included those. Blake discovered too late how wrong he was. “I think that’s against the rule...”

“Good point,” Coby said. Was it? Blake didn’t mean for it to be. He flinched when Coby looked back at him. The usual mischievous gleam in his eyes held a foreign malice undertone. But maybe Blake was looking too much into it. He was probably looking too much into it. “We can just...pressure Eric into leaving. We don’t need his weak, pansy-ass on the team messing with our game. Ugh. Just think of all his fantasies we accomplished during our team powwows and dog piles. I feel dirty.”

“Why did he come out?” Blake asked. He slowly sank, grasping for anything to say. Everything was disorienting. Coby’s sneer twisted. Christ, Blake needed to get away.

The stranger wearing his friend’s face shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he has a death wish.”

His breath escaped him. The lack of flippancy in Coby’s tone sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to get away immediately.

“Maybe he was joking,” Blake said.

“ _Right_ because pretending to be a fag is so...” Coby trailed off, the gleam in his eyes making Blake wary. “Actually, imagine if one of us pretended to be gay too. Then Eric would—”

“No,” Blake snapped.

“What?” Coby said, eyes narrowing. “Why are you being so stupid about this? You’ve been acting weird since I got here. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Blake said, cursing Coby’s tendency to be on the offensive all the time.

“You writing to me like some dumbass, gay lover,” Coby plowed on. He blinked. “Wait, don’t tell me...”

Blake tensed on the log, gripping the rock tightly.

“You don’t actually sympathize with the fag, do you?”

The rush of relief instantly warred with bitter self-loathing. But Blake couldn’t help it. Not for that terrifying second when he thought Coby knew the truth. A truth that would effectively end their friendship. There was no question about that now.

But did Blake want to be friends with such a blatant homophobe? He studied Coby's wide, dark eyes and frown. Something in him released. Coby was, for better or worse, his closest friend—a notion that didn’t sooth his spirits as it once had. They saw each other everywhere and did stupid shit constantly. He couldn’t lose another friend. Not after Richie. Not after so many of his other friends ignored him in the months that followed. Blake released a wavering breath. He didn’t want the other kids—his peers—turning on him. He couldn’t be alone in this town.

A bitter taste crept into his mouth.

“Course not,” Blake drawled, like it was obvious, like he wasn’t fleeing down the cowardly path. But Coby’s brightening face was as gratifying as it was grating. “Pretending to be gay seems gay. That’s all.”

Coby snickered. “I can always count on you to lead me down the right path.”

“Someone has to,” Blake said. And clearly it wouldn’t be him. He couldn’t stand up to Coby, let alone the looming, judgmental presence of the town—he didn’t want to. Blake was too cowardly to lose his closest friend. “I gotta go though. I promised Mom that I’d help with dinner.”

“Wait, Shelley,” Coby called, halting Blake’s retreat mid-step. “Why did you wanna meet here?”

“Just...I’ve been missing Richie a lot lately,” Blake said. This half-truth was the most honest he’d been since Coby arrived. “I just thought this would help.”

“Oh, Blake,” Coby began. A risked glance back revealed a sympathetic frown. The suddenly familiar face of Coby—the face that talked him into skinny dipping, the face that helped him roll his dad’s car back up the driveway, the face that threatened to pummel anyone who so much as looked at Blake wrong in the months that followed Richie’s funeral—sent a pang through Blake. He had to look away. “I had no idea. I’m sorry. Do you want to—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Blake said. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

Coby blinked. “Uh yeah, see you...”

 

* * *

 

Blake’s stomach rolled the next morning, but he crushed the impulse to plead for Mom to call the school. He was not sick. It was just nerves. Not that he had anything to be anxious about. Nothing—everything—changed. School would be fine.

Turns out he should have followed his instincts.

Blake shuffled into his first class of the day ten minutes after the final bell rang, distantly relieved that Coby hadn’t coerced classmates to graffiti ‘fag’ all over the school like he feared when he jolted awake the night before.

Mr. Payne, still hunched behind his computer for a semblance of work, barely acknowledged his tardiness. His algebra teacher’s level on uncaringness was useful when they wanted to slack off but hampered their ability to actually learn the material. Not that Blake could bring himself to care. He doubted knowing how to solve radicals would aid his future endeavors and Blake definitely wasn’t complaining when Mr. Payne never graded lower than a C.

Coby leaned forward as soon as Blake plopped into the seat in front of him. “What took you so long? I thought you were sick.”

“Late start,” Blake said curtly, eyes drifting to Eric’s empty seat. Maybe the upperclassman called in sick like Blake wanted to. He half expected to walk in on his classmates harassing Eric. With Coby as leader, of course. He wasn’t sure if his classmates’ calm exterior was due to Eric’s absence or his announcement not being as dumbfounding as he originally anticipated.

“So does the cocksucker,” Coby said, not bothering to lower his volume.

Blake’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at some of his classmates’ cackles. Not a single face in his cursory glance resulted in anything other than a giggling mass. Mr. Payne made no move to scold Coby. Blake hunched further into his seat, hiking up his shoulders in a weak attempt to hide. He wasn’t even the one who unwillingly came out to the entire town.  But this backlash made his want to hurl. Blake wanted to believe that it was simply due to him being a big enough person that he didn’t want anyone to suffer. But he knew—hated—that it was because Eric could have easily been him if Blake came out to Coby as he originally planned. Blake was so stupidly grateful that it was Eric who suffered and not him.

“He’s probably busy matching his blush with his skirt,” Hunter sneered from his seat by the wall. Blake flinched at Coby’s loud guffaw. Then hoped—pretended—that he didn’t immediately feel Coby’s searing gaze focus on the back of his head.

Involving himself lead to too many uncomfortable situations. Blake kept telling himself he could stand up to the public ridicule and face rejection from the people he thought were his friends, but he couldn’t shake Coby’s disgust or calm his pounding heart. His reluctance in playing hero hung heavily in his chest. The only thing stronger than his reluctance and sheer gratefulness that he was safe was his equally strong disdain in joining any potential taunts. Blake could attempt to duck out of any potential mockings and hopefully avoid his best friend’s already paranoid watchfulness. Christ, why did Eric come out? Why would anyone want to come out?

“After he finished jacking off in the team’s locker room,” Coby said, thumping Blake’s back.

“Aww, I bet you two loved that,” Sammy-Jo said, turning around to stare directly at Blake. “Unless Eric spells trouble in y’all’s paradise.”

It felt like a horse kicked him in the chest. All breath escaped him and he could only stare at his ex-girlfriend with wide eyes. She had to be joking. Surely. They couldn’t know he was gay. The only person who knew was Richie.

“Don’t be a bitch, Sammy,” Coby said.

Remaining a neutral party was smarter—everything else made Blake recoil and sweat dampen his palms—but throwing suspicion off him was a necessity. “Think I broke up with you because you don’t have a dick? I don’t know if it’s cocky or hilarious you think you turned me off women forever.”

“The only fag in this town is Eric,” Coby sneered, his attention thankfully off Blake.

“Yeah,” Blake said.

He took in a deep breath, attempting to ease his shoulders. He hardly knew Eric. Was it really worth defending a relative stranger? The tiny voice saying Blake was also gay was methodically squashed down.

The class chatter swelled around them as Eric entered the room. Mr. Payne’s gaze remained unwavering from his screen as the blond boy quickly strode to his desk—three rows to the right of Blake and directly in front of Hunter.

For a moment, Blake actually thought his classmates were shamed enough to silence once the object of their ridicule hustled into the room.

But only for a moment.

“Hey, Payne,” Hunter called. “Can I switch seats? I don’t want fag on me.”

Eric tensed.

“Quiet down,” Payne grunted from his computer.

“Don’t be rude, Hunter,” Coby scolded. Blake’s head jerked up. “He’s still on the baseball team. Our practice is today. Eric wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Eric’s frown lessened as he turned to Coby. The only thing that restrained the slight hope that bloomed in his eyes was Blake’s wince. Eric opened his mouth.

Coby didn’t give him a chance to respond. His fake politeness melted into a cruel twist. “Because you don’t want to miss another opportunity to snoop at the rest of us changing. Fag. Did you enjoy watching the baseball team strip? Give you plenty of wank material?”

One of the girls—Patricia—made a disgusted noise. “Gross.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Coby continued. “Because we ain’t gonna let you stay on the team for long.”

Hunter snorted. “Like we’re gonna let him stay in this town for long.”

“Ugh, out of all the guys to get publically mocked for, you choose the baseball team,” Patricia said. “At least the basketball team is worth it.”

“Hey,” Coby frowned.

Patricia shrugged. “You’re attractive to gay guys. It’s better than nothing.”

“Not really,” Sammy-Jo said, scrunching her nose.

Now Hunter swung around in his seat, his flailing arms not so accidentally whacking Eric. “We’re not fags!”

“Never said you were,” Patricia said. “Just attractive to fags.”

“Even though fag is contagious,” Sammy-Jo said. The more the girl talked, the more disgusted Blake was he ever associated with her. He glanced at Coby. Of course, he still associated with this one. “One fag coming out makes all the other cocksuckers come out of the woodworks.”

Hunter grabbed at Eric, who deftly stood from his seat, chair scrapping across the blue tile. “What other fags are here? Who’d you taint?”

“That’s not how anything works,” Eric said, backing away from his glare.

Coby snorted. “Yeah like we’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ve given you no reason to believe otherwise,” Eric said.

“Said the liar,” Coby said.

“You’re a peeping tom,” someone else added.

Eric frowned, but his whitening knuckles defied his calm tone. “I am not.”

“We don’t want you and your pervy eyes around,” Hunter said. “I want to walk around without feeling you watching my every move.”

“I’ve never made you guys feel uncomfortable before,” Eric said, turning around the room, trying to make eye contact with a friendly face.

“You lied before,” Coby snapped. “We were under a false sense of security.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “A false sense of security.”

“I don’t—” Eric began.

“And I hate liars,” Coby said.

“True men aren’t liars,” Hunter said.

“I never—”

“Shut up,” Coby said.

“He’ll shut up once he finds somebody willing to put a dick in him,” Todd called from the back of the class.

Eric stood frozen by his desk, mouth falling open and close as the laughter spread around the room. Blake only saw one person stare at Eric in horror. And that was Sue. As if she never realized how the town reacted to things outside the norm. As if she thought everyone would smile and move on after she told them Eric was gay.

Hunter snickered. “Look how much he wants that. We finally found a way to shut the fag up.”

“Wipe your drool,” Coby said.

“Maybe we just need to throw a giant dick in a closet,” Hunter mused. “He’ll follow that thing like a beacon.”

“Where would you even find a giant dick?” Patricia asked.

“It doesn’t have to look realistic,” Hunter said. “The fag is a dumbass.”

“Guys, I’m still me,” Eric said quietly. “Why can’t you get that? The fact I’m gay doesn’t change who I am. I don’t understand...”

“No one likes you,” Coby said. “Why can’t you get _that_? Even Blake doesn’t like you and he’s one of the nicest guys at this school.”

Blake froze as eyes simultaneously turned to him. God damn it, he hoped silence would prevent their expectant—fucking Coby’s confident—gazes on him. But there was nowhere else to look after Coby’s statement. Since when was Blake one of the nicest guys in class? He frowned at Coby, hair on the back of his neck standing up. He had the distinct impression this was a test. His stomach coiled. He hated that Coby thought—knew him well enough—to know he was against this.

“Right, Blake?” Coby prompted. Eric’s stare pierced his, becoming more intent the longer Blake was silent. The upperclassman tried to keep his face blank, but even Blake could tell he was in the middle of breaking. His eyes were wide and watery, arms crossed protectively in front of him, and despair and resignation tightened his features.  Eric expected a backlash from his peers, but he clearly expected support from at least the teachers and his few close friends.

But he was in the wrong town for that. Mr. Payne’s own silent support of Eric’s mockers was proof enough. Having everyone, even the people you considered your friends—Blake’s gaze flickered towards Sue, who was timid but made no move to defend Eric from the mess she started—turn on you could hurt anyone. Yet why was the potentially hopeful gaze the one that hit him? What did Eric think Blake would do?

Probably the right thing.

Blake’s mouth dried. Was protecting an acquaintance—Blake definitely didn’t know Eric well enough for him to be anything else—worth it? Blake’s opinion did carry more weight than Eric’s. He was born and raised here. People knew him and liked Blake and his family for at least two generations. The mayor used to babysit him and the gym teacher helped teach him how to drive. The entire town coming together for Richie’s funeral still filled Blake with warmth. Everyone knew everyone and the town embraced Blake. He didn’t want to lose that.

But it also meant he had more to lose. Eric arrived six months ago. People barely knew the Roberts. He swallowed. Eric’s parents would probably move in a year or so anyway. Blake was stuck in Ada until he graduated in a few years. He didn’t want to be met with cold shoulders and dark mutters until he left for college. He didn’t want to have the town follow his classmate’s and band together to, at best, ignore Blake and, at worst, treat him like a cockroach. Endy would support him in a heartbeat. His parents though... Homosexuality was still a relatively new topic for them. His dad definitely didn’t accept it and his mom was always quiet whenever Dad went on one of his many rants. But Blake learned long ago that silence did not mean disapproval.

He glanced at Coby’s frown, eyes widening as hints of disgust began to fill his friend’s face.

“Yeah, bitch,” Blake said on autopilot. Eric’s gaze faltered, glaring at the ground. Eric’s glare seemed equally aimed at his peers as it was aimed inwards. Coby patted Blake twice on the shoulder. The pats were light, but the repercussions were throbbing. Coby’s hands felt like weights. Blake wished his friend’s touch left bruises. Then his anguish would have a physical outlet. He had answered on autopilot. He threw Eric under the bus without a hint of regret on autopilot. Richie would be disappointed. Blake knew he was.

“Cause that’s all you are,” Coby said, continuing where Blake really just wanted him to stop. He could’ve been the one source of support in this town for Eric. He could’ve—hopefully—inspired others to stop picking on Eric. A quick glance around the class quickly reassured Blake that the only one who might join them would be Sue and that would be from guilt rather than a moral sense of wrongdoing.  Blake would have done nothing but condemn himself. That didn’t make him feel any better, though. “A useless bitch with a dick. Why don’t you fuck off somewhere?”

“What’s wrong with you guys?” Eric exclaimed. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

“Fags don’t deserve anything,” Coby said. “They’re only good for lying and dying.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Mr. Payne!”

Mr. Payne grunted, eyes boring into Eric. One look at the glare from Mr. Payne made Eric’s face crumple.

“What?” the teacher asked abruptly. “Toughen up. Boys will be boys.”

“A lesson we all thought a cocksucker didn’t need help in,” Hunter cackled, high fiving someone. Coby snorted.

Eric faltered under the utter lack of uncaring in their math teacher and the sneers from his classmates. His mouth opened and shut a few times as he took in the room, his feet slowly backing up to the front of the room. The red backpack was clutched in front of Eric like a shield.

“I...I can’t stay here.”

Eric briefly locked gazes with Sue before bolting out of the room. Mr. Payne blinked, his first reaction other than disinterest and disgust. The balding teacher stared at the slamming door before glancing to his black desk phone, clearly debating on calling the office. Laziness and fear of reprimand easily toppled his miniscule sense of duty. He bent over, gathering lecture notes from his filing cabinet.

“Huh, he left quicker than I thought he would,” Coby said. “We might not have to mess with him after practice now.”

Blake blinked. “What’s after practice?”

“Alright class, today we’re covering...”

Coby just smiled. “Just something that me and the boys concocted. But the fag ran like this room was a giant vagina after just a little teasing. It’s pathetic. Not that I expected more from a fag but—”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Blake interrupted, tearing his eyes away from his friend, not waiting on Mr. Payne’s—and especially not Coby’s—reaction before exiting the room with the same haste of Eric. Eric was nowhere in sight. Thank God. Blake couldn’t deal with that guilt. He assumed the upperclassman fled out of the school as quickly as humanely possible—he was always the fastest player to run around the bases—to either hide out or plead with his parents.

“What is your problem, Shelley?” Coby asked. Blake forced himself away from where he stood frozen by the gray wall. He heard the scrapping chair as he escaped but wanted the sound to indicate literally anything but his friend following him.

“Everyone will think you’re gay for Eric,” Coby hissed. “It’s like you don’t think at all.”

Blake wished Coby’s voice could fade into a buzz. He really needed it to fade into a buzz right now. He didn’t want to comprehend his sneering tone.

“Actually, they’ll think I’m gay for you since I followed you,” Coby said, frown deepening. “Damn it, they’ll think Sammy-Jo was right.”

Blake stiffened, but determinedly continued his march towards the bathroom. His ginger friend was loud during the most mundane conversations. Blake didn’t want anyone to hear Coby’s inevitably accurate concern. Or Blake’s response.

“You’ve been acting weird since yesterday,” Coby said. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Blake said.

“Bull,” Coby snapped, his voice echoing off the ceramic bathroom tiles. Blake winced. Probably not his brightest idea to lead him here. “And don’t give me the ‘I miss Richie’ shit. Something else is bothering you.”

Irritation cut through his panic. “Pain doesn’t just go away whenever it’s convenient,” Blake snapped. “I’ll always miss Richie. Which you would understand if you had a functional relationship with anyone besides your mom.”

“Screw you, you know why me and Sadie don’t get along,” Coby said.

“Because you’re a jealous prick always vying for your dad’s attention?” Blake said. Why he originally expected Coby’s opinion to veer from his dad’s eluded Blake. He was victim of too much wishful thinking.

Coby visibly took a deep breath. His scowl remained heavy countering his forcibly light tone. “Listen, I’m sorry what I said about Richie. You finally began acting like yourself again a couple months ago and now I feel like I’m losing my best friend again. But I don’t know why.”

“It’s not you, alright?” Blake said. “I just...”

“Ever since you found out about the fag you’ve been acting weird,” Coby said. His eyes narrowed. “Did the cocksucker do something? I’ll kick his ass.”

“Wha—no,” Blake said. “Eric didn’t do anything.”

“This isn’t some type of Stockholm Syndrome thing, is it?”

“ _No_.”

“Because I’ll fuck up that fag’s world,” Coby said, “and not in the way he wants.”

“Stop using that word,” Blake said, the words tumbling past his clumsy tongue before they fully registered. The silence that followed was shocked. Blake winced as Coby’s gape transformed into a frown. Latent disgust made a brief appearance.

“...Fag?” Coby repeated slowly, almost like he was testing the term. “Is that the word, Shelley?”

The nickname made him relax. Until he glanced up to Coby’s watchful eyes. Then he swallowed before hesitantly nodding. Letting the truth out now saved him from later repercussions. Probably. But it did nothing to soothe his current anxiety. Coby’s reaction to Eric was too fresh and led to an inevitable road Blake would rather not acknowledge.

But he was Coby’s bet friend. Surely that counted for something.

Coby sneered. “Why do you care? It’s like a nickname. Like you’re the only Shelley and he’s the only fag.”

Blake’s heart pounded. It was now or never. His tenacious grip on—courage? Need to be honest with at least one person?—was already slipping. “It’s offensive.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Coby jeered. “Since when did you become Mr. Politically Correct? I call ‘em as I see ‘em. Guess what? Political correctness doesn’t alter the truth. A fag is still a fag.”

“Stop.” Blake didn’t know why he still pleaded.

“Faggety fag fag,” Coby said. “The best fag is a dead fag. You’re just lucky I don’t replace ‘fag’ with ‘corpse.’ ”

“ _Stop._ ”

Coby’s dark eyes flashed. “ _Why?_ ”

“I’m gay too, alright?” Blake snapped, gripping the sink.

Coby froze. He let out a nervous chuckle that dwindled off after it became apparent that the punchline he was waiting for was not coming. It was never coming. Blood drained behind his freckled face. His eyes darted anywhere but Blake. “What?”

“I’m gay too,” Blake repeated slowly, watching realization dawn on his friend in the mirror.

“Are you joking?” Coby said. “Because it’s not funny.”

“I’m serious, Coby,” Blake said, turning and wincing as Coby stepped away from him. “I found out last year.”

“You’ve known an entire year and you never told me?” Coby asked. He couldn’t tell if Coby was betrayed by Blake keeping a secret from him or that Coby couldn’t protect himself.

“I was scared to come out,” Blake said. “I didn’t—”

“All those times you came over to my house, _spent the night_ at my house,” Coby said, eyes narrowing. “We looked at Playboy magazines together. We rated each one.”

“I was going to tell you,” Blake said. “I thought it was easier to—”

“Be a liar?” Coby finished.

“No, I—”

“You were checking me out, you perv.”

“Come on, Coby,” Blake pleaded. “You know me.”

Coby scoffed. “I know your tendency to ignore anything that could cause strife in your perfect world. Which isn’t _healthy_ , Shelton.”

“I was _scared_ —”

“That’s why you didn’t tell me,” Coby interrupted. “Because you were gay for me.”

Blake blanched. “No, I just wanted support. I told Richie and we were going to—”

“I knew you hung out more because Richie died,” Coby said bluntly. “At first I thought... But this makes more sense. I can’t believe you used me as a replacement.”

“Used you?” Blake repeated. “I didn’t do anything to you! I missed Richie. You know how hard his death was on me.”

“Good Lord, you and Richie were probably doing weird gay shit together,” Coby said. Breath escaped Blake. Red overtook his vision. “When you ‘discovered’ your fagness. Christ, I thought incest was strictly in the deep South and mountain territories.”

Blake didn’t think past the blood roaring in his ear. The room narrowed as he clenched his shaking hands. The transition from Coby snarling to the ginger stumbling back with a look of betrayal and a sharp sting spreading across Blake’s fist was instantaneous. Blake stared from his reddening knuckles to his glaring friend.

Coby prodded his jaw. “You like that? Because that’s the last time you’ll ever touch me.”

“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?” Blake asked. “Look what happened. You’re too much of a homophobic asshole to be rational. I thought that growing up together would make you realize that being gay doesn’t change a person’s personality. You’ve known me since we could crawl. I’m still—”

“I don’t know you at all,” Coby interrupted. “My _friend_ wouldn’t lie to me. My _friend_ wouldn’t—”

“Be gay?” Blake snapped. “It’s who I am. I can’t control it.”

“Don’t play the victim card.” Coby rolled his eyes. “It’s pathetic.”

“Just like your insistence that your dick is a beacon to all gay men in a 50 mile radius,” Blake said. “Homophobic asshole isn’t attractive on anybody. Screw you.”

“You wish, Shelton,” Coby snarled. “Don’t think I won’t spread this around school.”

Terror seized Blake. And, like most things when cornered, he lashed out. His mouth ran defense on autopilot. “And I’ll tell everyone you’re just bitter because we broke up. I’ll drag you down with me.”

Coby scowled. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t test me,” Blake said. “I know you too well for you to sneak by me.”

“Screw you, Shelton,” Coby said.

“You come near me again with anything less than an apology, you’re getting hit,” Blake said.

Coby snorted. “Keep dreaming, fag.”

Cold twisted in his chest. Blake turned, escaping the bleak bathroom without a backwards glance. Pretending his hands weren’t shaking, pretending he hadn’t just lost his oldest friends, pretending that he wasn’t five seconds from a breakdown.

He took a deep breath, snatched his coat from his locker, and left.

_September 2012_

Blake determinedly stared at the top of the tent. The downpouring rain transformed into a drizzle in the middle of his story. He swallowed, not acknowledging Adam’s piercing gaze. He simply clutched him closer, which worked to both keep Adam from forcing Blake to look at him and offer Blake comfort.

“So what happened?” Adam asked quietly.

“Eric showed up to baseball practice that day—his last one,” Blake said. “I don’t know if he was just stubborn or his parents were oblivious and strict about education. Either way they dropped him back off a couple hours after he left. Not that I saw anything since I hid by the pond until school let out.

“The team heckled him out on the field and replaced his clothes in the locker room with a dress. Just real juvenile shit,” Blake continued, tracing nonsensical patterns on his boyfriend’s arm. “Pictures of the aftermath were everywhere at school that week. Eric kept his parents in the dark about his bullying—God knows how, a fair amount of adults in town were talking about it—but he convinced them to take him off the baseball team. Honestly, I don’t think it was our classmates’ ridiculous behavior that got to him. It was the fact that none of the adults or his friends seemed to care. The principal made a half-assed announcement a week after the pictures about how bullying is frowned upon. But that was about it. You could tell they thought Eric got what he deserved and that was terrifying.”

“I meant for you,” Adam said. “What happened to you?”

“What happened?” Blake repeated. “Coby kept quiet but never spoke to me again—which confused my parents. Coby kept his trap shut about my sexuality, though. Either from fear of my threat or his one last ‘favor’ to me as a friend, I have no idea. It made me stupidly relieved either way.

“Eric only managed to skip a few more days of school. I don’t think he ever told his parents why he wanted to skip. They didn’t know what was going on. Even the town’s loudest gossip was civil to the Roberts. His parents didn’t know everyone turned on Eric...Eric was torn to bits. He stopped talking, he stopped eating, he stopped defending himself. He stopped doing anything. Kind of how I was after Richie died, honestly. So I...I should have been looking out for the signs.

Blake swallowed. “But I ignored them. Like I ignored everything else and pretended everything was normal. I even turned a blind eye to people bullying Eric right in front of me, which Coby did often just to spite me, I think. But I continued my day like nothing was different. I was so relieved that Eric wasn’t me that I didn’t bother to pay attention until it was too late. Until...he committed suicide a month later.”

“Fucking hell,” Adam swore before his voice turned so much softer. “Blake...”

Fingers brushed against his cheeks. Blake blinked when he realized tears were trickling down them. “I don’t think my classmates expected that to happen. His parents were horrified. I saw his mom collapse in the grocery store in front of some cereal a few days after. I wanted to—I couldn’t...I wished I had done something different... They flew back to Australia to bury Eric and never returned. I’m assuming the moved somewhere else. Somewhere more accepting. Not that it took much to be more accepting than Ada.”

“It’s not your fault,” Adam said.

Blake shook his head. “You weren’t there. I could’ve done something. Literally anything. Everyone turned on him. Granted my school had a student size of maybe 40 but still. Even his friends from before were quick to taunt him. Everyone turned, Adam. The mob effect is terrifying.

“I could have at least talked to him. He didn’t need a gay friend. He needed a friend, period. But instead I cowered away. When he needed support the most, I abandoned him to people I called my friends. I don’t talk to any of those people now. How was their approval worth a life?”

“Blake, you were 12.”

“15 actually.”

“Regardless, you were young,” Adam said. “Easily impressionable. You knew these people since you were born. The prospect of those people turning on you just as quickly as they did Eric—”

“Trust me, I know,” Blake said. “It still scares me shitless now. The Ada mindset is the mindset of most of my relatives. Doesn’t change the fact I should’ve at least tried to help Eric.”

Adam rolled so he stared up at Blake. His warm breath puffed against the country singer. “It doesn’t change the fact your town was a colossal smallminded dick. This isn’t all on you. It’s tragic, but it’s most definitely not on you. The parents and teachers shouldn’t have been as encouraging, his friends shouldn’t have followed the crowd—especially that bitch Sue—and—”

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” Blake interrupted. “I thought you knew better than to play with what ifs. No one else was willing to help him. I should’ve, but...”

“Blake, you—”

“He deserved better,” Blake said. “The Roberts deserved better than a town that drove their only son to suicide.”

Adam’s arm snaked across Blake’s chest, burying his face against his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Adam, you’re the last person on Earth who needs to apologize,” Blake said.

“It doesn’t stop me from wanting to shelter little you and Eric,” Adam said. “You both needed someone not afraid to take on all the prejudice—from the kids and adults. It...it sounds like Richie would’ve been that person.”

“He would’ve been. He refused to take anyone else’s shit,” Blake said, leaning his head against Adam’s. He continued quietly. “Richie would’ve liked you.”

“Good,” Adam breathed. He was quite for a moment before finishing his thought, hesitance clear in his voice. “Does your family know?”

“No, their first hint was when I told them my boyfriend was coming down for Christmas this year,” Blake drawled.

Adam flushed, but a corner of his mouth twitched at Blake’s dry tone. “Shut up. You know what I meant. The people outside your immediate family.”

“One of my cousins does,” Blake said. “He has a gay friend—much to our family’s general disapproval—but no one else.”

Adam hummed. Blake was briefly envious of his boyfriend. The Levines were much more open-minded. He bet that even the smallest Levine relative knew about Adam’s sexuality. That amount of openness was foreign to Blake. Probably just like Adam had no idea what it was like to have relatives disapprove on something as simple yet personal as his sexuality.

“Endy didn’t know until I was visiting her a week after Eric’s funeral. I was insanely drunk when I told her everything,” Blake said. “I woke up to her clinging to me after going full mama bear mode and whisking me out of the party so we could talk back at her apartment. I passed out but she made us talk about it in the morning. She accepted it without batting an eye. Not that I expected anything differently.

“My mom and dad...well they weren’t used to gay people. Dad was more against it than Mom. They were oblivious until, well, I snapped. Dad was going on another one of his rants, Mom was humming along, and it was a few weeks after I came out to Endy and...it just came out.

“They didn’t believe me at first. I could tell. Mom, at least, was quick to see it was genuine. But Dad...Dad was always stubborn. He kept saying there was no way I was a fag and Mom kept yelling at Dad to stop so they didn’t notice I escaped into the truck until I was almost out of the dirt drive.

“I fled to Endy’s apartment. She kept me there—with obnoxious amounts of hot cocoa because she thinks it cures everything for whatever reason—until Mom and Dad showed up the next day. Endy glared, naturally. But Mom was in tears and she wouldn’t let go of me. Dad was more...gruff, but he apologized. At my mom’s prompting probably but I took what I could get. I think my dad just tries not to think about it too much. Even now. It helps that I’ve never brought a boy home before so he could just think of my homosexuality as a trivial fact.

“Just...I’ve always had an innate fear that everyone will reject me when I tell them I’m gay,” Blake said. “I can’t help it. It’s been drilled in.”

“Well, in case you didn’t realize,” Adam said gently, leaning forward to press a kiss against Blake’s chin. “I’m super thrilled and supportive of the fact that you’re gay.”

Blake snorted. He ran an arm around Adam’s back, squeezing the frontman closer. “I was worried.”

“So who all does know?” Adam asked.

“Oh you know,” Blake said lightly. “Everyone important.”

“So I gathered,” Adam said. “Like...?”

“Someone is impatient,” Blake said, rolling them over so he loomed over Adam.

Adam’s hummed, hazel eyes barely wavering from his face. Blake swallowed. He was off kilter. He knew Adam could tell. His boyfriend was too perceptive for his own good sometimes. Not that it took much to realize Blake was attempting to establish some normalcy after the impromptu story that he really had been attempting to share for a couple months now. Only three people knew about Eric. Adding Adam to that list didn’t worry him like he thought it would.

Thankfully, Adam seemed game enough to follow his lead.  He tilted his head. The soft smile that spread across his face lightened Blake’s frown. He pressed a quick kiss on the corner of Adam’s mouth. That was one of Blake’s favorite smiles. It was more intimate than Adam’s public façade and more heartfelt than his teasing smirk. He couldn’t suppress the possessive urge to claim this smile as his exclusively. Blake cleared his throat.

“Like my parents,” Blake said, leaning down to kiss Adam’s nose.

“Solid choice,” the frontman commended.

Blake moved to his cheek. “Endy.”

“I sensed that.”

Blake chuckled, pressing his lips against Adam’s temple. “Not just a hat rack?”

“My brain does make itself useful every so often,” Adam agreed, pressing Blake closer. “Is that it?”

“Kelly knows,” Blake said after a moment.

“Clarkson?” Adam asked, roaming hands pausing. “Huh. That explains her knowing glances when we were touring.”

“She was always too intrusive for her own good.”

“Who else knows?”

“Miranda,” Blake said, mouthing his way to Adam’s ear. The frontman tensed underneath him. “She thinks you’re adorable, by the way.”

“Well, that just shows her good taste,” Adam said, “not that—”

Blake smirked as he tugged Adam’s earlobe sharply in his teeth. The smaller man’s breath audibly hitched underneath him. Blake would never grow tired of his reactions. Adam was so expressive. “Now do you want to keep talking or do something more productive?”

Adam’s grin turned wicked. Far too wicked for someone currently sprawled underneath him. His fingers twisted in Blake’s curls. “I don’t know... You know how much I like to multitask. Think how much we could cover during sexy times—”

“Sexy times?” Blake repeated dubiously, grinning as Adam ignored him.

“We could probably win a Nobel Peace Prize,” Adam said. “Solve world hunger and all that. Just because we’re busy with our mouths doesn’t mean we have to turn into useless human beings. Actually, if you think about it, we could— _Blake._ ”

Blake chuckled against Adam’s neck, his hand stroking Adam’s cock, having successfully snuck under his thankfully worn, and therefore loose, jeans while he was distracted. “Don’t let me stop you. Fucking a Nobel Peace Prize winner can easily be my newest fantasy.”

Adam let out a strangled moan, digging his nails into Blake as Blake easily adjusted his grip to what he knew was exactly the right side of rough Adam loved.

“Unless you’d rather just be turned into a useless human being,” Blake said.

Adam nodded, yanking Blake’s head up and swallowing his chuckles until they both forgot anything but searing pleasure and the intimate curves in the heat of their tent.

 

_June 2011_

James blinked when he opened his door. “Uh, hey, you realize that today is the day we all—”

“I know,” Adam said, brushing past James. “I just needed to talk with you guys.”

“What happened?” James asked.

Adam ignored the guitarist, walking towards his friend’s living room. Mickey lounged in the loveseat, lazily plucking his bass while Jesse hunched over his keyboard. The masseuse, ironically, often needed to unwind from his shift at the spa. Enter music. Both of his friends jerked when Adam strode into the room, James not far behind. Adam bypassed the living room to dig a beer out of James’ fridge. He needed a drink hours ago.

“Adam?” Mickey said, putting his bass on the coffee table in front of him.

“Are you alright?” Jesse asked.

“For fuck’s sake, I know I never made in subtle that I avoid these jam sessions but calm your tits,” Adam said, twisting the cap off and bringing the chilled bottle to his lips.

“I think we’re more concerned with the fact you chugged half of your beer within the first thirty seconds of entering James’ house,” Jesse said, “but the fact you came here on a day you usually avoid is a tad alarming.”

“What happened?” James repeated.

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I might’ve made a mistake. I can’t tell yet. I keep going back and forth between sheer panic and a self-righteous fuck them.”

“Adam, use words,” James said.

“Use helpful words,” Jesse added.

He sighed. Might as well rip it off like a Band-Aid. “I quit Almatrax.”

His friends’ reactions were simultaneous. Mickey choked on his water, James swore, and Jesse just blinked, staring at Adam. Adam shrugged under Jesse’s cocked eyebrow.

“It was kind of an impulse thing,” Adam said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “But it was also a long time coming.”

“You know I’m the first one to rag on Plaza,” James said. “They guy is a douche. But quitting...”

“You know our meeting today?” Adam asked, barely waiting for their nods. “Plaza completely ignored the rule I definitely broke and instead bitched at me for featuring on Travie’s song. As if I pulled any of that shit on purpose. He kept going on rants about how I would never be a professional vocalist, as is his tendency whenever I do something he deems inappropriate. The rants were as unnecessary as always, but, personal feelings and murderous tendencies aside, it was irrelevant to the actual meeting. But Plaza was always fond of destroying dreams he didn’t give his stamp of approval.”

“He’s such an asshole,” Mickey muttered.

One side of Adam’s lips quirked up. “Something just snapped in his office. I didn’t want to hear his shit again. Not the same demeaning crap he berated me with years earlier. Especially after I started liking my voice again. It took me longer than necessary to realize I didn’t have to even be in the same room as him. Plaza hired me onto Almatrax, sure. But he never endeared himself. He refuses to even consider the fact he might’ve made a mistake. I know I’m stubborn but, Jesus, at least I admit when I’m wrong...eventually. But I was done with his shit so I quit.

“I could easily work with another producer—Alamatrax was never quiet about who they wanted to keep on broad—but songwriting has never been my dream, you know? It seems more like a stepping stone now,” Adam said, focusing on peeling off his beer label. “Being on The Voice reminded me how much I love singing, how much I love performing. I want to do that for a living. Working for Almatrax won’t help me. So quitting my songwriting job seemed like the most viable option.”

The second of silence was only disturbed by his pounding heart. He took a deep breath. These were his friends. Why was he nervous now? At Almatrax he was pissed, for sure. But nervous about quitting? Only briefly. Then he was too distracted by relief, needling Plaza, and smuggling out his notebook. But these were more than his friends. These were his bandmates. He risked a glance up, but found he couldn’t move past James’ elated face.

“Are you fucking serious?” James asked, grinning. “You’ll be a professional singer? No matter how The Voice ends?”

“Well, try,” Adam said sheepishly, not able to repress an answering grin.

“Did you want to get the band back together?” James asked.

“I mean, that’d be awesome, but, you know,” Adam sputtered, eyes darting to Mickey and Jesse. Jesse’s chuckles tore his attention away from Mickey’s hardening frown lines. “Yeah, that is ideally my plan.  If you guys wanted to, obviously.”

“Dude, you know I’m game,” James said. “No question.”

“You’re such a diva,” Jesse said. “Conveniently ignoring our existence until you decide you can use us.”

“You caught me,” Adam said dryly. “Have my selfish ways thrown you off?”

“Eh, not really. I’m used to you being a selfish bastard,” Jesse said.

Adam snorted. “Asshole.”

Jesse smiled cheekily. “I’ll join. Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, you’re quite impulsive,” Jesse said. “Case and point.”

“Shut up,” Adam said. “I just didn't expect you to agree to join the band so suddenly.”

“It does feel right to give Maroon 5 another go,” Jesse said.

“You’re such a hippie,” Adam said.

Jesse raised his middle finger. “Besides, the spa bores me.”

“Aww is corporate America finally sapping away your energy, Jesse?” Adam asked.

Jesse snorted. “You’ve recoiled from any position that requires a tie since you were 12. I think it’s a phobia of yours.”

“You’re not wrong,” Adam said. His gaze locked on Mickey, who fidgeted. “Deep breathes. Your answer won’t change our feelings about you.”

Mickey released a shaky laugh. “I know, guys,” Mickey said in a voice rifled with uncertainty. “Just...starting a band at our age doesn’t seem practical. At least for me. Trust me, Adam, you were born to be a rock star. But I’ve been and L&K Mechanics for years. I’m in line for a promotion to Department Manager in six months. I have a 401K there. As much as I love playing bass, writing music and finding a studio to fund our first album isn’t exactly...stable enough for me.”

“Dude, I didn’t expect you to drop everything for this. I’m not that self-centered,” Adam said, ignoring his selfish pang. A part of him hoped for all of his friends to instantly jump at the chance to revive Maroon 5. Honestly, he was lucky James was a lock in and Jesse was such a free-spirited, and thankfully easily bored, hippie. The amount of jobs Jesse took on in the addition to his spa job over the years were ridiculous. Hopefully Jesse wouldn’t grow bored of Maroon 5 if— _when_ —the band made a comeback.

Mickey relaxed. “I know, man.”

“The exposure The Voice gave me aside, not to sound like I’m trying to sell you even though I am,” Adam said. Mickey snorted softly. “I plan to abuse the fuck out of Blake before I sign onto another studio. He's country, but The Voice gave him a shit ton of connections all around the industry. Mickey, you don’t have to decide anything _now_. The Voice still has a monthish left, optimistically assuming I make it to the last round. You can literally have the most lenient band membership ever until something more...concrete happens with the band.”

Mickey pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“But what about songs?” Mickey asked finally. Adam fought a smile. Fucking sounded like a yes to him. “It took us forever to write Songs About Jane. A month doesn’t seem like enough time—”

Adam reached in his back pocket, tossing his procured black notebook onto the counter, cover crinkled and worn from years of use. “Yeah, hi, I’m Adam. I’ve been a songwriter since 2001.”

Mickey snorted. “Right, my bad... Eh, fuck it. I’ll join again. Kind of.  Half-heartedly. I have no intention of quitting my engineering job so my only contribution will be playing with you guys at least once a week.”

“So basically our jam sessions now?” James clarified.

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t want to commit too much initially.”

“That’s the spirit,” Adam encouraged.

“So the band is reunited?” Jesse asked.

“Temporarily,” Adam said, pointedly ignoring James’ scoff.

“And without Ryan,” Mickey added.

“He’s too many states away than is convenient,” Adam said. “Besides, he has that wrist thing. Playing drums is probably the exact opposite of what the doctor recommends.”

“Come on, raise your cups,” James said. “To Adam finally getting his head out of his ass.”

“To a new career path,” Jesse added.

“To risks,” Mickey said. “Some smaller than others.”

“To James never cutting his hair,” Adam said. Jesse swatted him. “Ow, fine. To you guys for putting up with my bullshit.”

“And to every radio hit be like a middle finger to Plaza,” James finished.

Adam smirked. “I can drink to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's "wrist thing" refers to the injury Ryan Dusick recieved in real life. Basically, he stopped being the Maroon 5 drummer because playing the drums hurt his wrists/arms too much (which were injuried from when he played baseball in high school and touring with Maroon 5 only made his injuries worst). Brief M5 lesson over!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 1991 – Blake comes out to a friend  
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer (Pharrell)  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 - Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> May 2012 – Blake takes Adam hunting  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> August 2012 – Fashion Week: Victoria’s Secret fashion show  
> September 2012 – Blake and Adam go camping  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview, AMAs  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge 
> 
>  
> 
> So sorry about another belated update. I meant to update sooner but I suck (sorry :P)
> 
> Also, just a general FYI/reminder: Gay marriage in the US wasn’t legalized until June 2015 (and you’ll notice all the beginning sections are set in May 2015). So gay marriage isn’t legalized yet in the story, but it’s pretty obvious that it will be soon. 
> 
> Okay, now enjoy the chapter!

_May 2015_

The audience was generally a dull buzz between songs, but the coaches—mainly Adam—encouraged audience interactions. So it was a surprise to no one when they began yelling back unprovoked. Honestly, ‘when are you two finally getting hitched?’ was relatively mild compared to most questions interviewers and paps asked at him. A few audience members wolf whistled as Adam and Blake glanced at each other.

“Marry him?” Blake asked. “That ruins all of my plans.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been using Blake to get close to Christina,” Adam said. “I have a three year plan to woo her.”

“Oh, how’s that going?” Blake asked.

“Pretty good,” Adam said. “She’s no longer freaked out when I declare my undying devotion to her.”

“What a milestone,” Blake said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, boo,” Adam said. “Who did you set your sights on? Don’t say Christina. That will lead to another round of threesome rumors that I just don’t want to deal with.”

“You’re literally the only person with that problem,” Blake said.

“You can also have that problem if you pick Christina,” Adam said.

Blake hummed. “I’ll go with Gwen then.”

The blonde turned to the country singer. “That’s not how relationships work. You can’t call dibs.”

“Sure you can,” Adam said. “Watch, I call Pharrell.”

Pharrell’s eyes widened. “Um.”

“What about Christina?” Blake asked.

Adam waved a hand. “She can join me in my union to Pharrell.”

“Because gay marriage is illegal but a threeway is completely fine,” Blake drawled.

“Fourway,” Adam corrected. “Don’t forget about Helen. I’ll be her co-spouse. That’s a thing, right?”

“In some places,” Gwen said.

“Eh, we’ll just go off books and dub it Pharrell’s harem,” Adam said. “Seems easier.”

Pharrell continued to gape. “What?”

“Pharrell’s harem?” Gwen squealed. “Can I join? That sounds delightful.”

“Wait, you’ll go to Pharrell with no hesitation?” Blake asked.

“You called dibs like a caveman,” Adam said. “You’re lucky your current boyfriend finds you charming enough to accept your lack of manners.”

“My current boyfriend isn’t exactly the epitome of politeness himself,” Blake said.

Adam threw Blake a wounded look. “I doubt that.”

“He’s marrying another man and at least three women,” Blake said dryly. “Seems pretty rude.”

“No, I’m just marrying Pharrell,” Adam said. “I’m competing with three women for his affection. It’s quite intense and dramatic.”

“Plus Adam is at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to me and Helen,” Gwen said. “We’ve known Pharrell longer.”

“Quality is better than quantity, harem wife number three,” Adam said stiffly.

“Number three seems low in the overall ranking,” Blake mused. “Are you sure you still want to go to Pharrell? You’d be number one for me, Gwen.”

“Pharrell’s harem is hard to resist,” Gwen said.

“Plus she’s officially inducted,” Adam said, before frowning. “Actually, it’s not my place to say. Pharrell, yay or nay?”

“Uh.”

“Who are we kidding,” Adam said. “Pharrell wouldn’t turn anyone away. Welcome to the harem, harem wife number three.”

“Yes!” cheered Gwen, smacking Adam’s hand as the frontman precariously balanced over the red chair’s arm.

“So y’all are siding with Pharrell?” Blake asked. “Again?”

“My, my Blake-y poo is that jealousy I detect?” Adam said.

“It’s always me pitted against Pharrell,” Blake grumbled.

“Sorry, man,” Pharrell said. “I never meant for you to feel—“

“It’s not always you against Pharrell,” Adam interrupted. “Pharrell is the opposite of antagonistic. It’s always me and Gwen flocking to Pharrell and you fucking off to the side and throwing a fit and being a general dramatic pain in the ass.”

“He’s surprisingly diva-ish,” Gwen agreed.

“Wait, so I can join the harem?” Blake asked

“Really? That’s your question?” Pharrell asked.

Adam grinned. “Everyone is welcome to Pharrell’s harem.”

“Well, Levine, Stefani,” Blake said. “Watch your back. If anyone will be Pharrell’s favorite, it’s me.”

Pharrell kept looking between Blake and Adam. “I really don’t understand how these conversations happen...”

 

_June 2011_

Blake knocked on Adam’s door, feeling mostly foolish and only partially pragmatic. He fidgeted in front of the white door as a dog barked. The country singer never went to his contestant’s house. Of course, contestants usually stayed in a nearby LA hotel—funded by NBC—because they don’t conveniently already live in town. But the point still stood. Blake didn’t invade his team’s private abode, especially without permission or forewarning. There were boundaries and he respected them.

But not all his contestants abruptly quit their long-term career—where they were seemingly content—with no warning mid-season and then proceeded to ignore all of his texts and calls. So clearly he had to take a cab over here. Carson offered to drive before other duties deterred him. The producer was the one who originally informed Blake after Almatrax contacted NBC under their suspicions Adam stole some Almatrax property—a vague description of a black notebook followed, which was something he felt no need to search for—and Almatrax’s request for the studio to keep an eye out for it.

Mark Burnett agreed, of course. It wouldn’t be wise to be uncooperative with one of the biggest music studios, especially one with a Voice contract. But the network executive was quick to bring in Carson, who was quick to bring in Blake, who was quick to panic and hustle to Adam’s home—the address acquired from The Voice database—after forty minutes of no response.

Adam’s abrupt decision compounded with the little Almatrax info Adam divulged to him contradicted the vague post-Voice plan Blake bullied out of the rock star. Specifically Adam’s plan to work at Almatrax until he secured a record deal. He didn’t trust that Plaza character to be completely innocent in Adam’s—pressured?—decision. If Adam was manipulated during any point of this, he was more than prepared to offer use of his lawyer.

Blake raised a fist to knock one more time when Adam opened the door. A blinking, shirtless Adam. Blake didn’t know what surprised him more, the swirls of impossibly more tattoos starkly covering his pale chest or the finely cut abs deceptively hidden under loose t-shirts.

Actually he did know. It was the abs. It was definitely the abs that left him entirely unprepared to do anything but gap unattractively.

Adam frowned, shifting his stance to block a very excited golden retriever’s greeting. “Blake?”

“Why are you in only sweatpants?” Why was that his fallback question? The ground needed to swallow Blake immediately.

“These are yoga pants,” Adam corrected, sounding slightly offended as he fingered the tight, black material. Christ, Blake’s obvious gawking hadn’t even drifted past the smaller man’s hips.

“There’s a difference?” he managed to squeeze past his suddenly dry throat.

“Obviously.”

“Like what?” Blake needed to tear his eyes away from Adam’s chest. He should make eye contact like a normal person. But his eyes refused to listen to his brain.

“I do yoga in yoga pants.”

“How often do you do yoga?”

“Enough to maintain my girlish figure,” Adam said, crossing his arms. “As thrilled as I am to lecture you about my health routine, did you come around with some type of purpose or...?”

Blake swallowed. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose I’ll let you in after you creepily show up unannounced three hours before our schedule practice,” Adam said, backing up to let a sheepish country singer enter. The golden retriever, no longer restrained by his owner, jumped around Blake, tail wagging. “That’s Frankie. She’ll move onto constantly following you around for optimal petting soon enough.”

“A needy thing, ain’t she?” Blake said, scratching Frankie behind the ears as the dog pawed at his belt buckle. Frankie yipped happily.

“She just wants attention,” Adam said mildly. “Like a certain lumbering Bigfoot I know.”

Blake flushed, glancing up at Adam, whose smirk didn’t quite cover his anxiety. “You weren’t answering my messages or calls.”

Adam frowned. “I’ve been by my phone all morning, except when I started yoga about an hour ago.”

Blake flushed.

“Seriously? You came over here after an hour of no response?”

“I was worried?” Blake tried.

“Unless there’s a hitman heading this way or a bomb about to go off or some other reason it was apparently imperative for you to rush over here, you’re either incredibly clingy or bearing very shitty news.”

“A hitman?” Blake asked. “Why was that your first option? Did you irritate a mobster?”

“I’ve been in LA since I was born—”

“So that’s a yes?”

Adam gave a very put upon sigh. “So I know Hollywood is cutthroat in every sense of the word.”

“That sounds like a movie tagline,” Blake said.

“You sound like a movie tagline,” Adam retorted. “Blake, what are you doing here? You know how active of an imagination I have. You coming unannounced is stressing me out.”

Blake winced. It wasn’t so much Adam’s imagination that worried him, but the songwriter’s intense self-criticizing tendencies. God only knows what scheme Adam concocted. Anything from an irritated executive abruptly kicking off contestants to a preemptive elimination was viable to be running through the shorter man’s head.

And losing his spot in the competition so soon after his job...

Frankie’s rough tongue coating his palm made him refocus on Adam, who shifted nervously in spite of the aloof air he attempt to portray with his crossed arms.

“You’re still on the show before you ask,” Blake said. “I came over because I was concerned, not because you’re in trouble.”

Adam cocked his head to the side. “Okay...”

“I heard you no longer work at Almatrax.”

The effect on Adam was instantaneous. His tense shoulders relaxed, hands unclenched, and his face brightened.

“Oh _that_ ,” Adam snickered. “Jesus, Blake, turn down the dramatics. This is definitely something we could’ve talked about during our practice session today. Fucking hell, don’t freak me out like that.”

“Wait, so...everything is okay?” Blake asked, his face growing hotter the longer Adam laughed.

“I mean, yeah,” Adam said, face momentarily growing conflicted. “I think? I can’t tell if I made a mistake yet. I keep going between self-congratulatory and spiraling into a panic.”

“So you did quit? You weren’t coerced or anything?”

“Quitting was my own decision,” Adam said, “even though I can definitely see Plaza going through the effort of coercion.”

“You never showed any intentions of quitting. I assumed you would tell me since unemployment was never a part of your plans,” Blake drawled, hoping to cover his faint hurt that Adam neglected to discuss this semi-major decision with him. He cleared his throat. Blake was his coach, not his lover. Adam could do what he wanted.  

“I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know I was quitting until I got there,” Adam said. “It’s kind of a blur now. But I distinctly remember quitting. It was immensely satisfying and definitely my decision. It caught Plaza off guard, that’s for sure. I wish I could replay that moment forever.”

“Plaza and Almatrax deserves a lot more than just being momentarily taken aback,” Blake muttered.

“Don’t make me swoon,” Adam said. “You’re getting too self-righteous and noble.”

“So is Plaza why you quit?”

“It was just time to move on,” Adam shrugged. “I didn’t realize until I got to Almatrax how done I was with all of it. If I have to deal with that type of shit, I might as well do what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Blake asked.

Adam determinedly focused on Frankie, who now wagged her tail as she stared back and forth between the duo. “It’s nothing impressive. It’s all vague ideas right now. Me and the guys didn’t get into any specifics last night.”

Blake grinned. Adam’s sudden shyness and mention of ‘the guys’ could only mean one thing. Well, one good thing that Blake could think of. The country singer prodded Adam’s shoulder. Hazel eyes darted back up. “Spit it out, rock star.”

“I might’ve reunited Maroon 5,” Adam said. “Somewhat.”

“That’s fantastic!” Blake said, yanking Adam into a hug.

“I said somewhat,” Adam said, his voice muffled against Blake’s shoulder. The country singer was oddly pleased that Adam instantly accepted the embrace, simply shifting so his chin rested on Blake’s shoulder. “Mickey is barely in the band because he’s not leaving his engineering job for a vague idea. Not that I can fault him there. Jesse and James are definitely invested but they’re also not quitting their jobs until Maroon 5 is officially going somewhere. Plus we still need to find a drummer and my contacts of musicians are solely those already taken. But I’d feel like shit recruiting a drummer if we don’t even have a solid guarantee or a record deal—”

“Adam, breathe,” Blake said, releasing the smaller man.

“I’m really the only one who’ll be fucked if our band flops,” Adam continued. “Not that that’s a bad thing. Might as well keep the casualties at a minimum. Music studios are probably used to rejecting talent show singers—”

“You’re more than a talent show singer,” Blake interrupted. “It’s not finding a production company that’s hard, it’s filtering until you find the right one. Adam, most of The Voice contestants from last season’s semifinals all signed with a music studio. But the studios didn’t know how to use the singers with a large, fleeting fanbase. The studios dropped the ball with their artists. But now I know I need to keep a closer eye on things because I refuse to let the music industry screw you over again.”

Adam blinked, before softly smiling.

Blake cleared his throat. “Or any of my team. That’s what we mentors are for: to guide you even when you leave The Voice.”

“I somehow doubt that the other mentors go to the same extent to help us as you do,” Adam said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’m so happy I picked you as a coach,” Adam said suddenly, sincerely. “You’ve helped me with so much. I honestly didn’t expect much when I auditioned for The Voice. I definitely never expected this much to change in a month.”

“It’s what The Voice is for,” Blake said.

“The Voice is only as good as its mentors.”

Blake’s breath caught as their eyes connected. He never realized Adam’s eyes were actually hazel, not just dull brown. They almost sparkled above Adam’s grin. The momentary trance broke when the rocker glanced away sheepishly.

“Come on, let’s stop standing in front of the door like weirdos,” Adam said. “Even though social protocol dictates that I shouldn’t extend such hospitalities to people who randomly show up...and who shouldn’t know my address.”

“I found your address curtesy of NBC,” Blake said.

“That’s an abuse of power,” Adam said. “Probably.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Blake asked, not realizing the suggestive undertones of the question until Adam smirked.

“Bribe you, obviously,” Adam said “Do you want breakfast?”

“It’s 1 o’clock.”

Adam raised a challenging eyebrow. “So is that a no?”

“Nope, just an observation,” Blake said. “Of course I want breakfast.”

_October 2012_

Blake stumbled into the kitchen, squinting suspiciously at the sizzling pan in front of Adam. Adam smiled sweetly at his boyfriend’s slow approach, bare feet padding against the tile floor. Frankie barked excitedly, circling Blake until the country singer obediently pet the golden retriever. Frankie trotted back towards Adam’s feet with a satisfied huff. In a startling change of events, Adam woke up first and decided to cook his bum boyfriend breakfast. Which essentially meant bacon and pancakes because it was one of the few things he could make without burning. It was sad that out of the two of them, Adam was the master chef. His friends died from laughter when he told them.

Blake scratched his rumpled gray shirt as he stopped behind Adam, looping an arm around Adam’s chest. The country star lowered his head and pressed his lips against Adam’s temple. “You cooking, darlin’?”

“Nah, I’m brushing up on my Mandarin,” Adam said, leaning against Blake’s warmth.

“As long as you don’t burn my Mandarin,” Blake mumbled.

“I’m not you,” Adam said. “I only burn things half the time, not all.”

“You are the cooking expert in this house,” Blake agreed.

“Watch out for my skill,” Adam said swinging his spatula in front of him. Blake simply buried his face deeper into Adam’s neck, eyeing the stovetop lazily. “You aren’t going back to sleep are you?”

A scrap of teeth against Adam’s neck made the frontman hiss, lowering the spatula to the counter. He cocked a pointed eyebrow at his boyfriend. Blake smiled angelically. “Was that necessary?”

“You’re so sensitive, I can’t resist,” Blake said, nuzzling Adam’s neck.

He rolled his eyes. “Fill up glasses and set the table. Earn your keep.”

“I feel underappreciated,” Blake mourned.

“I use you for your body, not feelings,” Adam said, swatting Blake’s ass. The country singer smirked, shaking his head as he grabbed two cups out of the cupboard. Adam was growing used to living with the Okie.

Not that they lived together.

Blake just happened to stay at Adam’s place when he was in town. It just made more sense than Blake renting a condo or hotel room. He had a few drawers and part of the closet, a currently countrified corner in Adam’s music studio, and definitely had his own toothbrush and toiletries.

But they didn’t _live_ together.

A warm feeling rose in Adam’s chest as Blake maneuvered around his kitchen, starting the coffeemaker he bought after he got over his initial disgust of Adam’s daily dose of Starbucks. This had been Blake’s longest stay. The country singer stowed away in Adam’s house since the couple returned from their camping trip under the semblance of doing press for his new album.

Living together—not that they lived together—had been eye opening for the couple. They learned each other’s intricacies. Blake and Adam had been close before, but something about spending evenings in companionable silence or echoing laughter, spooning in bed or making love, bickering over takeout places or hogging the bathroom sink had brought them to a level of their relationship Adam didn’t know he needed.

Adam’s smattering of long-term boyfriends never resulted into anything this serious. He rarely stuck around when relationships transitioned past the fun stage. Adam was quick to bore—this was him completely ignoring Jesse’s insistence that Adam was allergic to settling down. The end result was the same either way: a tragic, or at least loud, break up when Adam or his boyfriend finally snapped. Adam was repeatedly accused of being “emotionally unavailable,” which he mulled over since his behavior rarely changed in a course of the relationship.

Maybe the post-honeymoon phase made him less charming.

Or maybe his boyfriends grew irritated with him. Adam knew his personality was abrasive. He rarely lingered on why his relationships inevitably failed—a completely mature way to handle anything—because Adam was fine being single. Happy even. Short spurts of relationships were fun, exciting, and obligation free. Adam could work, hang out with his friends, go on impromptu trips and didn’t have to check in with anybody.

He enjoyed his bachelor life.

He did.

He never even thought about legitimately settling down before. A part of him was always vaguely entranced by the idea of domestic arguments, white picket fences, and all its implications, but his cold feet and stubborn independence always made an appearance when push came to shove. Besides, all the petty arguments were never as endearing as portrayed on TV.

Until Blake. Who bickered with him constantly so arguing with the Okie over why he should actually discard his dirty clothes into the hamper or squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the container barely altered their routine. Blake mixed seamlessly with Adam’s LA life. Blake, like with everything else, effortlessly made himself at home in a place he should stick out like a sore thumb.

The scary thing was that Adam increasingly had difficulty imagining life in LA without Blake. Scratch that. Adam could imagine it quite easily—he and Blake hadn’t even lived with each other longer than a month—but it was increasingly desolate and dismal.

Adam wanted to spend time with the country singer, even after spending the whole day together or when Adam was tired from a long day in the studio and felt like collapsing on the nearest flat surface. He never felt like that with anyone before Blake. Clearly his friends and family lived in LA so he was never without company, but Blake was becoming such a natural fixture in Adam’s home. He didn’t want to lose that. Adam barely wanted to think of when Blake would have to actually leave.

His friends were officially warmed up to the country singer. His family knew none of the specifics but his mom always spent five minutes of their sporadic phone calls trying to weasel out any boyfriend details. Michael hadn’t mentioned his boyfriend—which made Adam swallow uncomfortably, but he, as always, attempted to ignore his little brother’s disapproval—while Julia texted him random pictures of celebrities she guessed he was dating. She sent him Blake’s photo a few weeks into the new year, but Adam’s flippant reply raised no flags, which is why sarcasm should be used always. Sarcasm and blatant half-truths.

Hiding Blake’s presence at Adam’s house became a nonissue after the country singer waved at the paps on his first day. The following picture didn’t even make it on any online articles. Press knew Blake was staying at Adam’s house, but no one cared. They wanted scandals, not one “bro” staying with a fellow “bro.” A label that was obnoxious, convenient, and aggravating.

The freedom the bromance granted them made Adam and Blake snicker at inappropriate times, but each time that label was thrown out in interviews or magazines, a part of Adam withered inside, which hopefully was hidden from Blake.

Adam hadn’t breathed a word of his desire to come out. He meant to talk to his boyfriend about publicizing their relationship—or at least his own sexuality, which might reassure Blake that the backlash wouldn’t be too heinous. But the following microscopic attention his and Blake’s “bromance” received would definitely strain their relationship—when he visited the Okie in Tishomingo after the Maroon 5 tour. But then the camping trip and Blake’s story made the timing seem off. Adam vowed to talk to Blake about it before October ended. Something easier said than done.

Adam rubbed his newest tattoo lightly. Opposites on paper, he still couldn’t get over the pure ease of their interactions, the naturalness of their relationship. The country singer made Adam confident in ways he didn’t know he was lacking, took his antics in stride, and made him an altogether better person. He could talk to Blake about anything, except of course the thing he wanted to the most. He didn’t want to scare Blake away. They’ve been dating for nearly a year but Blake never hinted at moving past the shrouds of secrecy.

Burning bacon yanked Adam out of his increasingly bleak thoughts. He quickly slid the bacon from the pan to a nearby plate with a curse.

“Lost in your own little world?” Blake asked.

Adam turned to big blue eyes. Only Blake could keep his eyes that warm. The frontman had to look away. They both moved at the same pace in their relationship until recently. The country singer was clearly more invested to the closet than Adam. Blake’s obvious reluctance to publicize anything that might rock the boat—which coming out as gay definitely would, especially in country music—made all the more sense after their impromptu camping trip. Moving at Blake’s pace after that seemed so much more important than Adam’s latent desires.

If Adam came out now, the media stir—his, Anne, and Behati’s “threesome” definitely showed that any relationship of his was tabloid news—would inevitably turn to the man he hung out with the most and clung to repeatedly: Blake. Adam didn’t want—accurate—speculation to force Blake to badly field questions or come out. No one deserved that. And Blake deserved that even less.

Adam would come out when Blake was ready. He refused to pressure the country singer. So he would wait until they could come out together.

Not that they ever established that. Or even hinted about future plans to publicize their relationship. The closest the couple got was during Blake’s tour when they decided to keep their relationship a secret and pushed the inevitably strained coming out conversation for later.

And that vague later would be soon.

It had to be.

Besides, talking about the future didn’t mean coming out immediately. Adam couldn’t force him. Blake’s happiness meant too much to him.

“Darlin’?”

Adam smiled at Blake’s furrowed brow, ignoring the swoop in his stomach. He leaned forward, Blake’s questioning lips moving easily against his own. He would talk to Blake about it tonight. Before he lost his nerve. His boyfriend would understand. Adam needed to get his feelings out. He would explode from too many suppressed emotions otherwise. Besides, this was _Blake_. Blake who went out of his way to make everyone comfortable, Blake who soothed even Adam’s tiniest concerns, Blake who listened even when Adam had nothing important to say. Why was Adam worried?

“Who says my world is little?” Adam asked.

Blake blinked, but smiled at Adam’s dramatic pout. “Everything about you is little.”

“Not everything,” Adam leered.

“Really? You might have to remind me...”

Adam’s retort was cut off by a blaring cell phone. He reluctantly released Blake. “Ugh. I still don’t understand how you can stand having the sound on.”

“I like hearing when I get calls,” Blake said, unplugging his phone from its charger.

“I feel mine vibrate like a normal person,” Adam said.

“Not your business phone,” Blake said.

“That’s your personal phone. Different phone, different situation.”

“Hey, Mom,” Blake said into his cell phone, shaking his head at Adam. “How are you?”

“Tell Dorothy I said hi,” Adam said, turning back to the stove.

“Mom, slow down. What happened?”

Adam jolted at the alarm in Blake’s tone. Blake’s face drained of color. His eyes were already distant as he faced the window, clinging to the phone like a lifeline. Adam froze, his hand hovering above the plates of pancakes and bacon. His hesitancy only broke when Blake rushed out of the kitchen. Adam tossed aside his spatula, following Blake to the living room.

Blake fumbled with the remote. Adam could faintly make out the panicked buzz of Dorothy’s voice. A news anchor’s drone filled the room.

“Good Lord,” Blake swore, standing stiffly in the middle of the room. Adam stepped next to Blake, curling an arm around his waist. The remote fell out of Blake’s slackened hand. His other hand gripped Adam tightly. Frankie wandered into the room, whining softly and pawing at their feet.

The decimated cities of Oklahoma panned across the screen. Buildings were flattened, pieces of wood strewn across the ground and roads. Cities had little, if any, standing structures left. Oklahoma was a flat plain of destruction. The news anchor impassively recited the damage of last night’s tornado damage.

“Over a thousand homes demolished...29 dead...over 500 missing...an estimated $2 billion in damage...”

Blake’s wide blue eyes could only look on in horror. And Adam could only helplessly hold his boyfriend as he took in the damage of his home. Dorothy’s frantic murmurs went ignored. Adam ran his hands across Blake’s back, gently pressing a kiss against his shoulder. Blake leaned his head down on top of Adam’s.

“Mom, I’m gonna do something,” Blake said. “I don’t know what, but I’m going to do something...”

Adam squeezed Blake reassuringly. Dorothy’s distressed tone went sharp.

“No, I’m not alone... Adam is here...” Blake’s warm breath puffed against his bed head. “Yeah... Bye, love you too.”

Blake slid his phone into his pocket and wordlessly grabbed Adam, dragging him to the couch. He followed without struggle. Blake collapsed, pulling the frontman to his lap. His head instantly buried into Adam’s neck. Christ, Adam wished he could do something, anything to distinguish the obvious anguish in Blake. Adam wrapped his arms around the country singer, combing back his curly hair.

“I can’t believe...” Blake murmured.

“I know,” Adam said. The taller man never felt smaller. Adam clung to him tighter.

“I didn’t even know tornadoes were in the forecast.”

“I know, babe.” Adam’s fingers didn’t stop moving. They wouldn’t stop until Blake was more than a listless mass under him. His raising chest and occasional nuzzle as he pressed closer to Adam were the only indications of life.

“It’s tornado season,” Blake said. “I knew that.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this,” Adam said, swearing mentally as Blake immediately tensed.

“Just... I want to do something,” Blake said, irritation leaking into his voice. “I want to go there and help everybody. What’s the point of being famous if you accomplish jackshit when it matters?”

“You can do something.”

Blake scoffed. “Besides tweet about keeping Oklahoma in people’s prayers? Right.”

“You can do more than that.”

“I want to help them,” Blake said. “Actually help them. Get them was they need. Oklahoma is my home. They just...they need help. They weren’t prepared for this. Who would be?”

“Blake—”

“Look how many people are homeless now,” Blake snapped as another pan shot of the path of destruction—was there even a path? It just looked like a giant explosion—from the tornado crossed the screen. “Look how many people are searching for a loved one. It’s not fair. None of this is fair...”

“People will help,” Adam said, shifting to better wrap his arms around Blake. Despite Blake’s increasingly aggravated tone, his tight grip on Adam never faltered. “That’s why we have organizations like the Red Cross.”

“Red Cross is temporary,” Blake dismissed. “Oklahoma deserves more than temporary support.”

“Blake,” Adam said, “you can help. You can raise money, spread awareness...fuck even your association with Oklahoma will aid them. Don’t doubt the power you have. You won’t be rebuilding houses, but you have the potential for so much more.”

Blake stiffened. His head slowly lifted up. Adam blinked at his boyfriend’s smile. Blake leaned up, brushing his lips against Adam’s. “You’re a genius.”

He leapt away from the couch and Adam. He frowned, tumbling and quickly scampering up after his suddenly active boyfriend. “What are you thinking?”

“I gotta get ready,” Blake said, jogging upstairs.

Adam pursued his rapidly retreating form. Blake’s sudden change in mood put him on edge. “What?”

He turned and pressed Adam against a nearby wall. Adam narrowly avoided a nearby painting Jesse had gifted him to ‘add class to the place.’ His frown didn’t falter as the country singer peppered him with light kisses.

“Blake, you know I’m supportive of like 90% of your antics, but what—”

“I’m going to NBC,” he said, pulling back beaming, “to see if they’ll help me put on a relief concert.”

Understanding flooded Adam. “That’s a great idea.”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” Adam grinned. “I hear people enjoy your singing.”

Blake pursed his lips. “Do you think NBC will go for it? It’s kind of short notice.”

“NBC _is_ fond of you,” Adam said, “and they’ll want to help the tornado victims.”

“I don’t know...” Blake trailed off uncertainly.

“Blake, you were literally jittering with excitement a second ago,” Adam said. “You know NBC. Fuck, just text Carson to meet you over there so you have an ally, even though the studio heads will back their poster boy.”

“Just...I’m not sure how long these take to plan,” Blake said, eyes turning distant again. “I’ve participated in some relief concerts but I never started one. What if NBC doesn’t...”

“Stop fretting,” Adam ordered. “NBC loves you and this is good PR. What’s the downside?”

Blake mumbled.

“Do you want me to come to the studio with you?” Adam asked. Blake’s distressed expression remained unchanged. “I’m coming to NBC with you.”

Blake disentangled himself from Adam. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just go by myself.”

“You didn’t ask me,” Adam countered, following the country singer into their room. “I invited myself along.”

Blake snorted, but refused to look at Adam.

He suppressed a frown. “I want to help. I want to support my boyfriend.”

Blake threw jeans on over his boxers and yanked out the first shirt he came in contact with in his drawer. The flannel was slightly worn and undoubtedly Adam’s. “I know, darlin’. I just...”

“You need to stop assuming you’re the only one with lumberjack shirts,” Adam said, tugging on the tight sleeves. Blake grumbled as he shrugged it off. Adam forced his gaze to focus on the sheepish country singer. “Why don’t you want me coming with you?”

“I want you always,” Blake said.

Adam ignored his flicker of unease. “But?”

Blake sighed. “You know what. It would raise questions if you were with me.”

Breath fled Adam’s lungs. The numb recoil of shock quickly heated into anger. “It literally wouldn’t. The fact that you’ve been staying here wasn’t even worth mentioning in the tabloids.”

“That’s different,” Blake said, sliding on a t-shirt.

“How?” Adam asked. “How is that different?”

“I just... I need to do this by myself. I don’t want to freak them out with too many people.”

“Bullshit. You just don’t want me with you,” Adam said. He needed to calm down. Blake was still reeling from the Oklahoma news. Stop picking fights. Blake’s mind was clearly elsewhere. Adam didn’t need to say something he’ll regret. As usual, his mouth had a different idea. “Me coming with you to the studio is not a declaration of us fucking. Literally no one will think twice. What are you afraid of?”

“Because it’s not suspicious _at all_ if the two of us walk in obviously straight from bed and covered in hickeys,” Blake snapped. “I don’t want people to even have the vague notion that we’re fucking. I can’t risk it. I don’t want to risk it.”

“You’re making a bigger deal out of the implications than you need to,” Adam said. “The signs are not that obvious.”

“The signs are there, Adam. That’s reason enough you coming is a terrible idea.” Blake ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t deal with us and Oklahoma right now. I just can’t. Is that what you want to hear?”

Adam gaped. He felt like he’d be slapped. “Will there ever be a time you do feel like dealing with us?”

Blake determinedly tugged on his last boot. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Adam blinked rapidly, eyes narrowing. “When do you want to talk about this?”

“Later,” Blake said. “God, Adam, just not right now. Let me deal with the relief concert first.”

Adam stiffly stood as Blake walked out of the room without a backward glance. He only moved after Frankie entered the room and whined.

He scratched his head. “I know, girl. I know...”

 

_June 2011_

Adam drove through the NBC gates—an experience that will always make him feel more important than he actually is—and parked his car next to The Voice studio. Blake left a couple hours ago, after stealing Adam’s French toast, declining to ride with Adam to NBC. Blake said that he had some other errands to run. Adam just assumed Blake didn’t want to give anyone a chance to whine about Blake playing favorites.

Which Adam hoped Blake never did because Blake’s favorite was obviously Raelynn. The southern belle who was cute enough to charm the entire nation, determined enough to effortlessly keep up with people more than twice her age, and disarming enough to wrap the entire team, including a reluctant Patrick, around her little finger. Rae was a force of nature.

 Adam slipped through the studio door with a short nod to a passing crew member and headed towards practice room 4. He was relaxed despite knowing that today’s practice would be filmed. Of course, it was easy to feel relaxed after Blake’s abrupt appearance earlier nearly gave Adam a heart attack. He immediately assumed the worst and thought he got kicked off the show by breaking an unknown rule or something. His fears were not soothed when Blake hadn’t even been able to look him in the eye when he first opened the door. God, his coach had instincts for the dramatics.

Thank fuck Blake only showed up because he was one of the biggest worriers Adam knew. Said worrier who was currently giving Usher a very unimpressed look as the R&B singer cackled over a tablet.

“Sweet is Usher a guest advisor?” Adam asked, making sure to swagger into the practice room. He never knew when the cameras were rolling during these ‘behind the scenes’ clips and apparently his regular walk wasn’t photogenic enough. Captivating walks could clearly make or break a singer’s career. “Finally I can talk to someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Adam,” Paul, the PA who handled most of the contestants, said, rushing from where he hid behind the cameras, “Heather wants you to not use Twitter.”

Adam frowned. “What?”

“You and Blake made some trashy headlines,” Usher said. “Congrats.”

“What?” Adam grabbed Usher’s tablet as Blake stared contritely. Multiple pictures of Blake entering a shirtless Adam’s house filled the screen. ‘House Call to a Homewrecker??’ stood in bold letters above the pictures. “There were paparazzi at my house?”

Blake grimaced. “Sorry, Adam.”

“Paps are always desperate for a story,” Usher said. “They’re everywhere.”

“But I’m a nobody,” Adam said. “How do they know where I live?

“They probably followed me,” Blake said. “Sorry, I didn’t notice them.”

Adam glanced up, pushing aside his panic at Blake’s desolate tone. “I don’t expect you to be omnipresent. I didn’t notice anyone either.”

The country singer pursed his lips. “Still. I’m sorry I led them to your house. If you start getting harassed, NBC has plans in place for—”

“I didn’t see anyone when I drove here. They probably left when you did.”

“But—”

“On the off chance they come back, I’ll abuse NBC,” Adam interrupted. “Or hide at my parent’s house. Now stop bitching. This isn’t your fault.”

“Well that’s the quickest I’ve ever seen someone shut down Blake’s apologetic rambles,” Usher said.

Adam shrugged. “Blake didn’t do anything.”

“I should have been more aware of them,” Blake said. “I’m used to them following me, especially in LA.”

“And I’ll pass on my complaints that you don’t have a third eye to your mother,” Adam said. “But there are bigger issues we need to deal with.”

Blake let out a sigh, finally looking less like he just accidentally ran over someone’s dog. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re talking about.”

“Who’s home am I wrecking?” Adam asked, pointing a finger at the headline. “Unless you’re married, which I’d feel very betrayed and lied to if Perez Hilton knew you were married before I did.”

“Me too,” Usher said.

“Usher and I will storm out in a rage if you’re married,” Adam said.

“And key your car,” Usher added.

“I will also leave your team for Usher’s,” Adam said. “I’ll convince the producers somehow.”

“Carson will back you up,” Usher said. “He doesn’t know Blake is married either.”

“Y’all done yet?” Blake drawled.

“I’ll also tweet your personal number,” Adam said.

Usher actually looked aghast. “Oh, that’s cold.”

“He betrayed our trust with a secret marriage,” Adam reminded.

Blake snorted. “The headline is probably just referring to the rumors that Miranda and I are an item.”

“And remember Heather’s request not to tweet about this or respond in any way?” Paul said. “You should listen to Heather.”

“Why? My tweets last time were so popular,” Adam said. Paul just stared.

“Adam, don’t break Paul,” Blake scolded lightly. “He just started coming out of his shell. He doesn’t deserve an anxiety attack.”

“Technically, NBC can’t censor what you tweet,” Usher said nonchalantly.

Adam cocked his head. “Really?”

“Usher, you need to leave,” Blake said. “You’re encouraging Adam.”

“Not nearly as much as you do,” Usher retorted.

“Go on, scat,” Blake said. “We have filming to do.”

Usher smirked. “I’ll go where I’m wanted. Have fun you two.”

“You know, it’s that type of attitude that led to your life being homewrecked,” Adam said as the R&B singer strolled out of the room to do whatever Usher did.

“You’re the one that enabled my home to get wrecked,” Blake said.

“It’s not like I could say no when you showed up,” Adam said. “You’re my coach. I was intimidated. I thought you’d eliminate me if I turned you down.”

“Go make your grand re-entry,” Blake said, eyes twinkling despite his dismissive wave, “and stop adding to the homewrecker story.”

“The truth needs to get aired out.”

“Adam, please don’t say these things in front of paparazzi. My publicist still hasn’t forgiven me for the Twitter Q&A.”

“Fine, fine...” Adam said, tapping rapidly on his phone. He could practically feel Blake’s amusement turn to suspicion.

“Adam, did you just make a tweet specifically after Heather told you not to?” Blake asked. A strangled squawk came from Paul’s direction.

“Maybe,” Adam said.

 

@AdamLevine:

Exclusive story of Blake entering my house. All who walk through my doman gets lavished upon entry #TrueFactIsTrue

“Heather will kill you and I’ll do nothing to stop her.”

“Still worth it.”

Blake snorted. “Let’s start practice before I regret pushing my button for you.”

 

_October 2012_

Blake shuffled with the pizza box as he fumbled for his key to Adam’s door—a gesture they both agreed was for convenience above everything else—his elation of his successful pitch dwindling the longer he hesitated in the doorway. He and Adam definitely did not part on the best terms.

To put it lightly.

Everything happened at once. The desolation of Oklahoma, Blake’s excitement at Adam’s wonderfully obvious solution, followed closely by his flash of pure panic. Blake fled, letting his speech to NBC executives distract his mind.

Adam blindsided him earlier.

It really shouldn’t have been so shocking. He had known from Adam’s increasingly forlorn face at every mention of “bromance” and his unsubtle studying whenever he thought Blake was distracted that the inevitable was coming.  Honestly, Blake circumvented most coming out discussions before they had a chance to manifest past a wistful look. It was coincidence at first that he managed to swallow Adam’s concern with a kiss or lighten his frown with a joke, but it quickly turned into a defense mechanism. His ‘defense’ was so similar to his usual behavior Adam didn’t even think to be suspicious when his few attempts at an adult discussion led to messing around like a couple of teenagers. Of course, why would Adam ever think Blake would deliberately stop him from talking about something clearly important to him?

God, Blake was a terrible boyfriend. He was too concerned with stalling tactics to concentrate on the actual problem. But it was just stalling. He knew that the conversation wouldn’t be on hold forever.

He just never thought the fallout would be so dramatically dire. Namely, his own reaction to said inevitable question. And all of this transpired when Adam didn’t even ask that question. Not directly at least. But the question hung heavy in the air when Blake left, heavy enough that the events leading to his past break ups rushed back to him with sudden clarity.

Blake swallowed.

Everything had been surprisingly perfect between him and Adam. Blake knew it wouldn’t last. They got along better than he ever dared to imagine, even after he moved in for weeks at a time. Adam was unabashedly tender and sappy behind closed doors while Blake floundered in comparison to ensure that Adam knew he was equally appreciated.

When they both weren’t dicking around anyway.

And that was the thing: His past boyfriends never went along with Blake’s usually asinine sense of humor the way Adam did. They tolerated it, generally chuckled at his jokes, but it rarely transformed into the banter he and Adam fell seamlessly into every time one of them opened their mouth. Blake had no idea how much _fun_ that could be until now. Adam made everything easier. Even telling Adam about ‘91 escaped Blake’s mouth with surprising ease.

Adam was honestly the best thing that ever happened to him.

So why did Blake constantly have to mess things up? Adam was nothing like his past boyfriends, as few as those numbered. Blake knew the coming out talk would happen eventually. The talk always came. Even in less high profile relationships. All his past boyfriends left because they thought he was ashamed. Not that Blake could blame them. He was still reluctant to come out now and Adam...Adam was something special.

Adam made Blake stronger and more vulnerable, which was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. A part of Blake—a large part—still cowered under the thought of publically coming out, the thought of leaving his fate in the hands of a mindless mob, to press known to tear apart the most functional of relationships. An insanely negative backlash—the media backlash paling next to his oblivious friends and extended family’s reaction—would be impossible to come back from. Blake knew the fickleness of a crowd could turn murderous on a dime. He knew how quickly someone he trusted could turn into a stranger.

But maybe together...

Of course that was all screwed up now. Adam was rightfully pissed. Because Blake was terrible with everything, up to and including communication and feelings.

Blake bit his lip as the cool LA breeze brushing against his clothes. His heart pounded, wondering if he could stall eternally in the doorway. All their previous fights were petty enough that one generally acknowledging his own dumbassery resolved their argument within a maximum of four hours, even though most of their fights would probably be resolved in less time if they weren’t equally stubborn.

This was more than yelling about Frankie chewing on his shoes or Adam leaving his yoga equipment everywhere. This was break up material. This was Blake crushing Adam’s hopes and desires. This was Blake revealing how much he cowardly wanted to remain each other’s dirty little secret forever. Something he knew Adam would despise.

Blake could barely swallow past the lump in his throat. He really did end up being another toxic relationship.

Adam was so bluntly confident and genuine. Definitely more than the country singer. No one knew how often Blake hid behind misdirecting jokes and a slow southern drawl. While Adam...even media-trained censorship flew out of his mind despite Bryan’s vain efforts. Adam acted naturally in front of a crowd in a way that made Blake envious. His boyfriend kept many things a secret from the mass public—Adam enjoyed privacy like anyone else—but he rarely hid his personality and true feelings. Adam’s impulse to embrace— _claim_ —Blake warred with his private tendencies.

It irritated Adam at times that they couldn’t go out like a regular couple. The necessary censorship irked Adam as much as it reassured Blake. Because while they were both on the same page, Blake could pretend. He could pretend that they would always have this easy relationship, hiding and snickering at the tabloids, yet still able to be together without excessive press mobs and invasive headlines. But Adam was getting restless, only his disdain in divulging personal information to the mass public kept his complaints to a minimum. But the longer they were together, the more serious their relationship became and the stronger Adam’s desire to stop hiding grew.

Which made sense. But Blake was too cowardly for change.

Blake didn’t know what terrified him more: The prospect of losing Adam or the backlash, both publicly and privately, of his own abrupt coming out. Too many friends and family were in the dark about his sexuality for him to have a single sector of peace.  

But he couldn’t hurt Adam. Not again.

Of course, that was apparently easier said than done. Christ, he was such a dumbass.

He eyed the gleaming brass doorknob, the key’s jagged edge cutting into his palm. He had no idea how Adam would react when he stepped through that door. Moping or pissed off or worse: Adam acting like nothing was wrong. He rarely put on a mask, unlike Blake, even while swarmed by paparazzi, but the few times he did alarmed Blake. Neutral Adam was worse than an Adam frothing with rage because at least one cared enough to invest emotion. The other simply found whoever he was dealing with not worth the effort. Blake always—selfishly—wanted to be worth the effort.

He couldn’t have Adam give up on him. Course, Blake would have to move past the bliss they enjoyed since their relationship started and into the terrifying unknown. His fingers tightened around the key as a flood of panic built up in his chest. That would be a relationship first. Unhealthily stubborn and reluctant of change were essentially Blake’s MO. Blake was set in his pattern. He was so used to hiding from the press and from some of his friends that he barely questioned why now.

He held himself aloof after he last couple break ups. He seemed incapable of having a functional relationship. So there was no point in him just hurting someone else, hurting himself with another.

His loud laughs and rapid jokes were an effective enough shield to prevent anyone from getting too close. Everything became routine after a while. Blake recorded music, usually filtered through Hank, interviewed when instructed, smiled widely at camera flashes, went to the right parties because even country music required pointless social gatherings.

He hadn’t written a song—one that wasn’t shit—for years. Inspiration fled as soon as he contemplated picking up a pen so writing always turned into a pointless, _frustrating_ struggle. Blake began easing into his mundane routine. Because doing anything else seemed pointless.

Then The Voice came along. The show gave Blake’s career a jumpstart he didn’t think possible and a purpose when he was growing listless. The judges weren’t the assholes Blake anticipated and the contestants were amazingly talented. He thrived on mentoring the variety of talent and the banter the producers constantly encouraged from behind the cameras wasn’t nearly as awkward as it should have been.

But the excitement was fleeting because even in the big cities, Blake ended up alone.

Blake spent most of his time on The Voice filling the hollow ache in his chest that appeared whenever he came home to an empty condo devoid of most personal belongings. It was part of the reason Blake was such a great coach. He invested all his spare time into his contestants. Just because he wasn’t the happiest person, didn’t mean he couldn’t improve other people’s lives.

His LA friends, so essentially Carson and Usher, kept him company most evenings, but they generally were eager to part ways after a long day of filming at the studio. They, like the numerous cameras, were fooled by a too big a grin and a self-deprecating joke whenever they expressed anything even relating to concern. Deflecting was habit by now. Blake sometimes didn’t even realize it occurred until the person turned away with a chuckle.

The only thing that changed when The Voice ended was that his empty house moved from LA to Oklahoma.

Then season two began and Adam joined his team. And it was more than helping another contestant, it was more than finding another friend he inevitably kept in the dark about one glaring aspect of his identity. It was finding someone who just _got_ it, got him. It was finding someone who effortlessly wormed his way through Blake’s usual defenses. He was fascinated by the simultaneously cocky and doubtful, snarky and concerned, passionate and unfiltered, determined and unruffled rocker. Adam captivated his interest when the rest of the world already faded back into the mundane bleak, everyday droll. Adam was the spark that entered Blake’s life when he needed it most.

The spark that entered his life and stayed. Adam improved Blake’s life. Blake should return the favor.

Which meant opening the God damn door.

Blake jerked the door open, relaxing at the immediate strums of guitar that echoed from the living room. The guitar abruptly cut off, making his fleeting relief evaporate.

Blake steeled himself. No going back now. Adam was here. He released a breath and shut the door behind him.

“It’s me,” Blake called. As if anyone else had a key. Frankie barked excitedly, oblivious to the thick, underlying tension. The country singer scratched behind Frankie’s ears, trudging towards the living room, towards Adam. His hands were already sweaty when he entered the living room. The golden retriever bounded behind Blake happily.

“I figured,” Adam said. The only difference from five hours ago—only three of those hours spent at NBC. Blake spent the rest of the time compiling a list of willing friends who would sing at the benefit concert. It was a necessary task and not just an excuse to keep him from returning to Adam’s house as quickly—was swapping his gray sweats for a pair of worn jeans. Blake wasn’t sure if Adam ventured out since he left for NBC or who his boyfriend might have talked to.

Blake swallowed. He had hours to think of what to say. Yet here he was panicking, all words and practiced apologies escaping him. He stopped walking when he was eight feet from Adam. The country singer stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Adam’s face was guarded. “I brought pizza.”

Hazel eyes glanced at the brown box in his hand. The aroma from the meat lovers pizza sparked absolutely no interest. “I already ate.”

“Ah,” Blake said. “Uh...NBC is aiding the relief concert.”

Adam gave him a strained smile. Blake shifted uncomfortably. “That’s great.”

Blake had no idea how to broach the subject. Adam fumbled with his guitar as he laid it on the other side of his loveseat. At least his boyfriend wasn’t openly pissed. That had to be some type of positive. “Um...There’s a slot for you. If you want it, I mean.”

Adam glanced up, the first flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Of course I want it.”

Thank Christ. “I wasn’t sure if you would since...”

“Blake, your home was literally demolished. I’m definitely irritated and hurt right now,” Adam trailed off, focusing on his coffee table. He cleared his throat. “But Oklahoma is more important. Of course, I want to help the tornado victims. Even if I didn’t know you, these people need aid. I’ll do what I can to help them, to help you.”

Blake sagged, stepping closer to the frontman. Premature relief? Probably. But this was already better than he imagined. He forgot that Adam was probably just as eager to make amends. The couple hated being separated. Usually. So this uneasy truce? He could definitely work with it. Adam’s stare turned marginally less warily. “Good, NBC is hosting the relief concert at the end of this week. That way we don’t get in the way of the American Music Awards.”

Adam paused. “End of the week?”

“Yep, Friday,” Blake said. “The day after the AMAs. NBC says that Friday night will get higher ratings and all that jazz. I forget their specific reasoning on the timeslot now. It involved a lot of stats.”

Adam opened his mouth.

Blake held up a hand. “I know travel will be a pain—we’re holding the concert in Oklahoma City—but I figured if you left that night or early Friday morning you could make it. I know it’s further away but NBC agreed that holding this concert ASAP would be more beneficial. We already got quite a lineup of singers. Reba McEntire, Michael Bublé, Miranda, Carrie, Luke, Usher, even Christina. And that was only from me calling around today. Just imagine who NBC and... What’s wrong?”

Adam looked away. “I can’t do Friday.”

Blake froze, stomach plummeting. “...What?”

“I can’t do Friday.”

“Why?” Blake struggled to keep his voice level. Adam wouldn’t bail on him unless it was important. But his brain had issues piercing through the cloud of betrayal and pain that burst forth.

“Maroon 5’s David Letterman interview is Friday,” Adam said. “Followed by our Letterman concert.”

Blake’s face drained. Fuck, he forgot. How could he forget something as glaringly time consuming and large as a concert? Ignoring the fact that concerts were essentially all that Adam had been doing lately and Blake could easily see this one being lost in the repetition of it all.

Blake suppressed a snort. Of course, there was also a frantic Adam to contend with. No wonder the concert escaped his mind. Conversations centered around the AMAs and talking down a panicking Adam for weeks now. Blake was too distracted alternating from supportive to soothing to matter-of-fact to even think about Letterman until today. Reassuring Adam that the AMA nomination wasn’t a fluke grew old as the weeks wore on. ~~~~

Adam probably neglected mentioning the concert after the initial booking. Of course, why would he? What was special about a late night concert when compared to his national sold out tour? Or repeated chart toppers? Or other talk show interviews?

Adam had everything so God-damned easy. Few people achieve this amount of success in this short a time. Adam was too distracted with the next step of his perfect career track record to worry about anything other than the award Maroon 5 will inevitably win, to worry about anything other than Maroon 5.

Even when Blake needed him.

He huffed. The world was so eager to throw itself at Adam’s feet. It was instinctive and all too easy to transfer his growing irritation outwards. “You hate David Letterman.”

“I don’t hate him,” Adam protested, hazel eyes guarded. His voice was forcibly level. Blake scowled as Adam watched him like he was a ticking time bomb. “I think he’s a boring host. But Blake, that’s not the point and you know it. I can’t just back out. This Letterman concert has been in the works for a while. I remember telling you about it.”

“Once,” Blake retorted. “What? Am I expected to have your schedule memorized? Prioritize it over all else?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Adam said. “Even though I figured you would remember something as minor as a Maroon 5 concert.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you chose another concert over us again,” Blake muttered. Not nearly quietly enough. Of course, it was never meant to be.

Adam blinked before his eyes narrowed. “The summer tour just ended. You knew the months I was gone were necessary.”

“I was referring to the Victoria Secret’s Fashion Show,” Blake said. “Sorry I wasn’t specific enough for you to deduct that.”

Adam scowled. “Don’t get pissy at me because you want to double book me.”

“This is more about fucking booking Maroon 5. I want you with me.” Blake shook his head, refocusing his glare on the frontman. “How was I supposed to know you had something booked after the AMAs? Who even does that?”

“You do,” Adam said, “and this was your exact response when I first told you about Letterman. You thought I was overworking myself. I know you apparently don’t care about _the necessary things_ I do to succeed at the same exact career you have, but I figured you berating me on my mental health would stick out to you.”

“Because everything is about you,” Blake said. “Newsflash: Coaxing you through every little thing isn’t half as endearing as you think it is.”

Adam flinched. Blake squashed his fleeting apologetic thoughts. Adam’s brief hurt already hardened into a glower. “I didn’t mean to be such a burden on you. I know feelings are such a hassle in relationships.”

Blake snorted. “Like you’re the model boyfriend. Don’t forget about your weeks of radio silence when you were on tour.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You never answered my calls,” Blake snapped, hackles raised at Adam’s clearly dismissive tone. “Me dubbing that as radio silence is hardly dramatic. I anticipated your absence. Your refusal to pick up a phone or Skype? Not so much.”

There were plenty of nights when Adam promised to call him later only for Blake to receive an apology text in the wee hours of the morning. It didn’t take long for Blake to take Adam’s pre-concert promises as a sign that he should just sleep and not wait up for his boyfriend’s never made phone call. A familiar bitter feeling twisted in his stomach.

“I told you the last half of the tour was hectic,” Adam said. “Why the fuck are you bringing this up now?”

“This just happened a couple months ago.”

“Then you should have told me this a couple months ago,” Adam snapped. “I’m not a fucking mind reader. We literally spent the past few weeks together and, call me crazy, but you could’ve mentioned _something_. You could’ve even sent a text while I was touring. Don’t act like I trapped you in a bubble and left you to your own devices. Communication wasn’t impossible.”

“Then why wasn’t I worth a phone call, Adam?”

Adam winced. “I didn’t have time—”

“For a five minute conversation?” Blake finished. “I’ve toured the entire time you were stuck behind a desk at Almatrax writing lyrics. Trust me when I say I know how to balance my work and personal life.”

“Since when? Don’t act like you have a perfect track record in stopping your tours and career from intruding on your private life. What was your longest relationship? Tell me right now.”

“You’re not proving anything,” Blake said.

“Aren’t I?” Adam asked. “From the fucking looks of things, I’ve balanced my career and dating life a fuck of a lot better than you did.”

“No, I just have more tolerance for your inconsiderate, workaholic bullshit,” Blake said.

“Don’t play the fucking victim. You were the one who told me my career came first,” Adam snapped. Sometime Blake wanted to strangle past Voice mentor him, who didn’t consider how high career-drive could ruin private relationships. When Blake really knew better than anyone the brutal aftermath of solely focusing on a career. “Guess what: Touring and playing concerts is part of the job. I’m a successful singer now. Thanks to you.”

Only Adam could make that sound belligerent.

“I forgot your Letterman gig. Sue me,” Blake said. “Here’s a fun game: Name one thing on my schedule for next week.”

“An interview,” Adam said.

“Wow, great job,” Blake said. “I was worried you would say something vague.”

“An interview on Ellen, you gigantic dick.”

“That interview was filmed last week,” Blake said. The triumph of Adam failing his test was not satisfying enough to cover the pang of disappointment. “It’s set to air tomorrow. I’m so glad you pay attention.”

Adam opened and closed his mouth. “You’ve done a shit ton of press for your album. It all blurs together.”

“And you wonder how I forgot about your Letterman concert,” Blake drawled.

“Fuck off,” Adam said. 

“You make it impossible to care when you’re a selfish shit like this.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Adam said. “It’s a wonder we ever ended up together.”

Something in Blake’s heart ruptured. “If you have to question—” he began heatedly.

“You make me question everything,” Adam snapped. “Constantly! Even though it should be fucking obvious how much I accept you, how much I fucking care about you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“You know I would go to your fucking relief concert if I was available. Don’t even imply otherwise. Do you really want to get into a dick measuring contest about who supports who more? Because you’ll fall embarrassingly short.”

Blake scoffed. “Ignoring the fact you completely failed boyfriend 101 and don’t listen to me?”

“You didn’t talk about your Ellen interview,” Adam said. “I would remember.”

“That’s because I had to talk you down from your latest crisis,” Blake said harshly. “After all the times I’ve been there for you, you want to accuse me of being unsupportive? I convinced you singing is a viable career! I convinced you not to give up on your passions!”

“I’m not fucking talking about you as a _coach_. I’m talking about you as a _boyfriend_.”

“I’m a supportive boyfriend.”

“Really? Then introduce me to one person as your boyfriend.”

Blake flinched. “Don’t be an ass. You know why we’re hiding our relationship.”

“I know why I’m hiding our relationship from the public,” Adam said. “Because I would hide any relationship from the press until it turned serious. You’re just a stubborn, closeted asshole.”

Blake forced himself to step away, gripping the pizza box firmly. “I don’t need this right now.”

“So you’re just running away as soon as this is brought up?” Fury laced Adam’s tone. “Mark me as shocked.”

“Oh screw you,” Blake said. “Like you wouldn’t do the same if our positions were reversed.”

“Relationships are about not fucking off when things aren’t happy-go-lucky.”

“Bet you have to use that line a lot.”

Adam jolted back—when did Adam stand up? Blake didn’t remember the transition of him sitting tensely on the couch to snarling in his face. As close to his face as the cumbersome, unnecessary peace offering of a pizza box allowed.

“No one gets along 100% of the time,” Adam said.

“Oh trust me, _I know_ ,” Blake said.

“But that doesn’t mean you can just leave,” Adam snapped, “you fucking asshole.”

“Then tell me to stay,” Blake said. “Tell me you want me to stay.”

“Fuck you,” Adam spat. “If you want to leave, pack your shit and go. I won’t stop you.”

Adam quivered, his mouth in a permanent sneer, fists clenched by his side. Essentially the picture of someone who very much did not want Blake in his presence. Fine.

He marched out of the living room, resolutely ignoring anything besides the stairs—but still faintly aware of Adam blinking at his abrupt departure—and the hall then their—Adam’s—bedroom. Blake blindly emptied his drawers and threw clothes into a duffle bag.

Adam didn’t follow him up here. A scoff caught in his throat. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Adam’s loud mouth transmitted something the frontman wasn’t prepared to back. Blake swallowed roughly, throwing the blue duffle bag over his shoulder.

For the second time, he stormed out the house. This was just the first time he had no intention of returning.

 

* * *

 

Usher let Blake in without question, his blank eyes and hollow smile acknowledged with a grimace and a hug. Doubtless, the R&B singer assumed Blake didn’t want to be alone after seeing the Oklahoma destruction. Blake was in no hurry to correct his friend of that notion. Really the only thing that earned a raised eyebrow was the lukewarm pizza Blake carried in with him.

“Is it too soon to drink?” Blake asked, taking a meat lovers slice out of the box. Usher had been dividing his attention between Real Housewives and the country singer.

“It’s 7. I’m surprised you’re not drunk already,” Usher said, heaving off the couch and striding towards a nearby cabinet. “You’re lucky I am prepared.”

 “And this is why you’re my favorite,” Blake said, forcing a smile as Usher returned with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing with his steps. He could always count on Usher to supply the fancy crap.

“It’s okay. I know why you’re here,” Usher said. Blake paused in pouring the drinks. “You use me for my booze.”

Blake forced a chuckle. Of course, Usher had no idea that Blake currently had no place to stay for what’s safe to assume the rest of his LA stay. Hank had been very skeptical with Blake’s assurance that he already found a place. Now, Blake wished he followed Hank’s usual instructions and rented a condo.

Blake barely remembered what he said when he lashed out. He was just left with a vague impression of everything building until it erupted in a blur of heated rage. But Adam’s retorts ricocheted in his head as clear as day. He quickly sipped the whiskey, the liquid burning down his throat.

His chuckle had been too forced, apparently, because when Blake finally glanced up, his friend looked stricken.

“You know it’s completely fine if you want to stay here until your concert,” Usher said. Blake nodded, patting Usher’s thigh. The R&B singer was not reassured. “I’m assuming you’ll be traveling instead of attending the AMAs?”

Better excuse than Blake bothered to think of. “Yeah, I’m skipping it. I’m sure Adam and Christina will be fine without me.” He barely stumbled over Adam’s name.

“Is Adam performing at the concert?” Usher said, sipping his own drink. His gaze drilled into Blake.

Blake swallowed, concentrating on the drama on Real Housewives—the wives were at Sarah’s birthday party. He hadn’t paid enough attention to know the source of the current feud—instead of anything vaguely emotional and Adam related. He gulped down the rest of his whiskey. “Adam can’t come.”

Usher watched silently as Blake poured himself another glass. “Why?”

“He has a Letterman concert on Friday,” Blake said.

“You know Adam would perform at the relief concert if he could,” Usher said carefully.  Damn, apparently Blake’s tone was bitterer than he intended. “He cares about you.”

The country singer grunted. He really couldn’t think about Adam right now. Not when he wanted to get mind-numbingly drunk.

“We will help Oklahoma,” Usher said firmly. “We all support you and want to help the tornado victims. Just chin up. It’s short notice but as many people will attend as possible.”

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” Blake said. When he was hopefully too distracted by the relief concert and a pulsing hangover for any other thoughts to intrude.

“Fair enough,” Usher said.

“This is why you’re one of my closest friends,” Blake said.

Usher blinked. “Because I let you get drunk?”

Blake snorted, shaking his head. “Because I know you care. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you care and I really need that right now.”

Usher squeezed Blake’s knee. “I’ll get some more liquor.”

Blake raised an eyebrow.

“I love you man, but you only get this sappy when you’re hurting,” Usher said. “So let’s drown your sorrows.”

“I change my mind,” Blake said. “You enabling me to get drunk is why you’re my favorite.”

“There’s the Blake I know and love,” Usher said. Blake chuckled, his smile vanishing as soon as Usher turned his back. Blake drained his cup. The time for thinking couldn’t be over soon enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline
> 
> November 1991 – Blake comes out to a friend  
> March 2000 – Maroon 5 is rejected by Almatrax, but Adam is signed on as a songwriter  
> April 2011 – James convinces Adam to audition for The Voice  
> May-July 2011 – Adam is a contestant on The Voice  
> August-September 2011 – Adam tours with other Voice contestants  
> September 2011 – Sunday Morning is released, The Papercut Chronicles II (Gym Class Heroes album) released  
> November 2011-January 2012 – Adam tours with Blake  
> January 2012 – Adam records Moves Like Jagger, meets Interscope producer (Pharrell)  
> February 2012 – Adam is on the Today Show, Blake is interviewed on Jimmy Kimmel  
> March 2012 – Hands All Over is released  
> April 2012 - Maroon 5 performs at Trevor Project Live  
> May 2012 – Blake takes Adam hunting  
> June 2012 – Maroon 5 performs Moves Like Jagger on The Voice  
> June – August 2012 – Maroon 5 on HAO tour  
> August 2012 – Fashion Week: Victoria’s Secret fashion show  
> September 2012 – Blake and Adam go camping  
> October 2012 – Howard Stern interview, AMAs  
> September 2013 – Begin Again premiere  
> May 2015 – Adam is a Voice judge 
> 
>  
> 
> Look who finally updated
> 
> I'm officially on summer vacation and I'm free to bum to my heart's content (unless I'm working) so I finally have a good chunk of time to write :) I'd like to take a second and thank every single lovely person who took the time to leave a kudos or review this story. You're all awesome. Thank you so much <3

_May 2015_

Rich, pure country music burst from the stage. The effect on the other coaches was instantaneous. Blake’s face lit up, Pharrell turned thoughtful, and Gwen nodded along. No one but Blake seriously eyed their button.

Adam noticed a trend during his years of watching Voice Blind auditions: The other Voice judges, no matter which combo, rarely bothered to push their button for country artists unless Blake was out of the picture. No one seemed inclined (or stubborn enough) to repeatedly fight a seemingly doomed battle. Blake effortlessly dominated with country artists. He didn’t even need to pitch half the time, the country hopefuls naturally gravitated towards him.

The runway on the other side of the stage lit up. Adam glanced over as Blake’s chair turned to face the contestant. The country artist beamed. Adam shook his head at his boyfriend’s smug grin.

The guitar strums—please, God, have that be the contestant playing—was upbeat and the southern drawl was thick. He already sounded like a country star. This definitely wasn’t his area of expertise, but the contestant’s voice was so smooth and addicting. Adam nodded his head. This singer captivated him with his first note.

He would’ve hit his button in a heartbeat if this contestant wasn’t country and Blake hadn’t already turned around. Blake was the country singer powerhouse. He had been since season one.

Adam closed his eyes when the contestant’s voice cracked beautifully—genuinely—in the chorus. He didn’t care that the contestant was 100% country and already had his dream coach. Adam pressed his button and swung around to face the very _very_ country artist—cowboy hat, boots, guitar _,_ and giant belt buckle included—and ignored Blake’s holler in favor of clapping as the hefty man let out his last note.

Whoever said that Blake had sole claim over country artists?

The audience cheered as the other two red chairs swooshed around. Gwen’s shining eyes darted between the frontman and country star. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“Congratulations on making it on The Voice,” Pharrell said.

“Thanks, I still can’t wrap my head around it,” the contestant said, wiping his hands on his jean.

“Aw, dude,” Adam said. “I give you complete props for playing guitar. You sounded _sick_. Your singing was so on point, I wasn’t sure if the guitar was you too. I hoped it was, but now I know for sure you’re like a wet dream—”

“Should I be jealous?” Blake asked.

“You’re like Blake 2.0,” Adam said while the contestant gaped onstage and Blake pouted. “I know exactly how hard it is to make a flawless instrumental and vocal performance sound effortless. The fact you pulled it off in your Blind audition...”

“Stop trying to seduce him,” Blake said. “It’s futile. You know he’ll pick me.”

“Arrogance is not a good trait in a leader.”

“Confidence is,” Blake said.

The studio audience oohed very unnecessarily and dramatically. Adam shot them a look. “Really?”

“What’s your name?” Pharrell asked.

“I’m Colton Thorpe.”

“And where are you from, Colton?” Blake asked.

“Altus, Oklahoma,” Colton said.

“Is that so?” Blake said gleefully. He grinned at Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Stop looking so smug. Geography doesn’t mean anything.”

“Only a non-Okie would say such a thing,” Blake said.

“Oh screw you, I live in Oklahoma as much as you do now,” Adam said.

“But you weren’t born and raised like Colton and I,” Blake said.

Colton cleared his throat. “Actually I was born in Nevada.”

“Ha!” Adam said.

“Don’t be so smallminded, Adam,” Blake said. “Being an Okie is more than just being born between a specific set of borders. It’s about your heart—”

Adam rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Adam, censor yourself,” Heather scolded. Adam shrugged sheepishly.

“I can tell you have the Oklahoma spirit,” Blake said. “Colton, change is bad. You should stay with what’s familiar. Look at Adam. Look at his tattoos and potty mouth. You don’t want the city boy.”

“Blake likes the city boy and he’s very country,” Adam said.

“I am the epitome of all things country including its music,” Blake said. “Thanks for bringing that up.”

“Getting out of your comfort zone is good for you. Trust me. I know,” Adam said. “That’s why I chose Blake as a coach when I was on the show. I know the value of mixing genres. I know what you learn when you choose someone that’s not a perfect match on paper. Plus I know every single one of Blake’s coaching techniques. So I can weed out his bad habits and bring you the very best advice from my personal arsenal and past experience with Blake.”

“Bad habits? What bad habits?” Blake asked.

“If I told you then you would use it against me,” Adam said. “Just focus on the fact that I know all your tricks and methods.”

“That just means he doesn’t have anything,” Blake said. Colton’s awed, bewildered look had yet to fade. “Don’t be fooled. I, for one, will look out for you one country boy to another.”

“I can look out for you one Voice contestant to another,” Adam said, “and, not to brag, but I did very well post-Voice. Let me lead you down that same path.”

“Which I helped him with,” Blake said. “Just imagine what I can accomplish with someone in a genre I’m intimately familiar with.”

“Blake only knows country,” Adam said, “that’s where most of his connections are.”

“Very good point, darlin’,” Blake said.

“I have Blake’s same country connections and the connections to help you succeed not just in Nashville, but across the United States,” Adam said. The audience oohed again. He smirked. Studio audiences were the best.

“What? No, you don’t,” Blake said.

“Name one important person in the country industry you know that I haven’t been introduced to and met multiple times,” Adam said. Blake frowned. “Exactly. Colton, why limit yourself to one revenue when I have access to those same country revenues and then some?”

“I have non-country connections,” Blake protested, “but Colton doesn’t need—”

“Don’t limit the artist before we ask him what all he wants,” Adam scolded. “Colton, are you a country boy through and through? Because I heard some rock in your voice, which I’m more than happy to help you with. Why go with the guy who just focuses on country when you clearly already mastered that genre? Exploit the resources The Voice offers you.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Blake asked. “You didn’t even let Colton answer. You were too busy with your used cars sells pitch.”

“Hasn’t your pitch the past ten thousand seasons essentially been ‘I helped Maroon 5’?”

“Yep,” Pharrell said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself.

“Come on, Colton,” Adam urged. “If you’re not interested in southern rock, it’s definitely a genre worth exploring. I feel like it was crafted for you. It’s advantageous to be flexible with genres. It gives you more of an edge, which will definitely help you succeed in the industry.”

Colton blinked a few times before fumbling the microphone back towards his mouth. “I, uh, am actually interested in old school country and southern rock.”

“I’m an expert at everything southern,” Blake said. “Classic country isn’t something to be treated lightly. I would hate to have your sound ruined by incompetence.”

“Oh, fuck off, Shelton,” Adam said. “My guest advisors can help with old school country, even though I have plenty of country experience.”

Blake snorted. “You cannot count everything you’ve learned from my company.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “As you’re so fond of reminding me, I’ve had over a decade of experience in the music industry before I even auditioned for The Voice. Country may not be my area of expertise, but I was exposed and experienced with it long before I met you.”

“Theory vs actual helpful advice—”

“Why don’t we ask Kenny Chesney or Lady Antebellum how helpful I was when I wrote music with them?” Adam asked. “Besides, I can easily get one of them, Miranda, Luke, Carrie, Brad—”

“I know exactly how to handle you voice,” Blake interrupted, focusing on Colton. Adam hid a smirk. Blake was getting nervous. “I don’t need to rely on advisors. The same can’t be said about some.”

“I’ve guest advised Blake’s team for multiple seasons,” Adam said. “Trust me when I say I’m very familiar with helping _and improving_ country artists. Blake wouldn’t ask me to come back if I wasn’t helping his team, which always includes country artists.”

“I didn’t invite you every time,” Blake said.  “Sometimes you were the special advisor NBC recruited unbeknownst to the rest of The Voice judges.”

Adam waved a hand dismissively. “I still helped your team. Besides, I coached Raelynn when I was your contestant, which you encouraged. If I could help people then just imagine what I can do now.”

Pharrell whistled.

“Don’t encourage him,” Blake scolded.

“Colton, if you pick me as a coach I can’t guarantee a victory,” Adam said. “But I can guarantee continuous help after The Voice. Winning isn’t everything, knowing how to navigate the music scene is. I can help you and, let’s be real, do you think for one second Blake wouldn’t help with your career if I didn’t ask?”

Blake, of course, had to put in his two cents. Right as Colton looked thoughtful too. “Do you think for one second Adam wouldn’t help with your career if I didn’t ask?”

Adam pursed his lips. He was really hoping Blake would magically not consider that.

“Adam and Blake are a package deal,” Gwen said, which may or may not improve the frontman’s chances. Colton fidgeted onstage.

“So who do you pick as your coach?” Pharrell asked.

Colton’s beard quivered. “I...I don’t know. I came here thinking I knew who I’d pick, but now...”

Adam shot Blake a triumphant look. His boyfriend’s finger continued pointing to himself, but he was stiff. Adam reached pleadingly towards Colton. Even with his pitch, Adam still fought Goliath. But he couldn’t help but feel like his chances with Colton were decent. He couldn’t stop staring between the two. He finally glanced to the side of the stage, where his family stood with Carson. The studio audience screamed their names, Blake’s side loyally screaming his name, but Adam heard a lot more ‘Adams’ than he anticipated.

“But,” Colton said, taking a deep breath, “I have to go with Blake.”

“Yes!” Blake said.

Damn it. He had to clap though as Colton and Blake briefly shook hands and Colton couldn’t stop looking at Adam. The frontman reached out as the bulky man walked by, shaking his hand.

“I’m stealing you if Blake screws up,” Adam said. “You’re too good to leave after a couple rounds.”

Colton laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. You almost had me convinced...”

“Maybe next time,” Adam said. “Congratulations, man. Welcome to The Voice.”

Colton beamed as he was led by a PA offstage. Adam sat back in his chair, rolling his eyes as Blake approached him, clapping and grinning like a psychopath.

“Go away,” Adam said.

“Sore loser, rock star?” Blake asked. “You couldn’t have been that invested in Colton.”

“I almost had him,” Adam said.

“That was more of a fight then I expected,” Gwen said.

“A futile fight,” Blake said.

Adam scoffed. “Funny how you’re cocky now that Colton is safely on your team.”

“You did have me worried for a second,” Blake said. Adam continued scowling, waiting for the punchline. “But just for a second. I knew he wouldn’t be fooled by your pitch.”

“Fuck off,” Adam said. “He was torn until Gwen mentioned us being a package deal. Then Colton figured he could just use me through you.”

“Plus he was in awe of my country expertise and the natural fit of me being his coach,” Blake said. “But sure. You can pretend you had something to do with his ultimate decision.”

Adam stared at his boyfriend, who now leaned against his chair so Heather couldn’t turn the chairs around and continue with the auditions until he finally deigned to return to his seat. Such a smug diva.

“You’re insufferable,” Adam said.

“I learn from the very best,” Blake said, ruffling Adam’s hair. “You encouraged me to openly celebrate things.”

“I’m stealing him when you inevitably fuck up,” Adam said.

“And take credit for all my hard work? I wish that would be the first time,” Blake said. Adam rolled his eyes. And he used to find this man intimidating, though that only lasted the first 24 hours. He had met more menacing toddlers.

“Go back to your seat,” Adam ordered. “So I can steal a country artist from you.”

“Your optimism is almost dauntingly foolhardy,” Blake said.

“I will destroy you and your word of the day calendar,” Adam said. “Colton was just round one. Imagine what I can actually come up with when I plan.”

Blake just blinked. “You plan your bullshit?”

“I will dye all your clothes pink,” Adam said.

“Blake, seat,” Heather said.

“I could work pink,” Blake mused. “I think I still have the pink cowboy hat Carrie gave me.”

“Not in LA,” Adam said. “You’d have to get one of the neighbors to send the hat from Oklahoma or just clash and wear a normal, not pink cowboy hat.”

“I don’t think Gwen would forgive me,” Blake said.

The blonde waved her fan. “I could put a pink ribbon or flower on your hat. We’ll make it work.”

“ _Blake_ , seat,” Heather repeated. “We can’t do this after each audition.”

Blake sighed heavily.

“I told you Heather liked me better,” Adam taunted as Blake kissed his cheek—leaving with a very loud, wet pop—and walked back to his seat.

“I tolerate you equally,” Heather said.

“Heather, you say the sweetest things,” Adam said.

 

_October 2012_

The backstage at the American Music Awards made The Voice look like a frantic mother fixing food for her children. Still hectic, but at least contained on a smaller scale—Wow, Adam never thought he would ever label the NBC studios as small. How things have changed.  The AMA’s sheer size made Adam’s hands turn clammy and heart flutter. He knew logically that the AMAs was a large, star-studded event. But knowing the hottest voices of music flooded the event and seeing people Adam previously only heard on the radio consistently turned the frontman into a useless, stiff statue.

The constant buzz and new faces were a good distraction in all honesty. Nikki Minaj even hugged the band on their way to their assigned green room—which were never green, he noted early on in his career. Apparently their brief meeting at Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show made them friendly acquaintances at least in front of cameras. One of the many AMAs stagehands ushered Maroon 5 backstage a few sets before their performance. The guys—namely Matt and James whose seats were beside LMFAO’s—had been star struck enough to ignore their nerves. Now those nerves came back in full force. Mickey talked in an increasingly high pitched voice, James paced around the room, and Matt twisted his drumsticks in his hands, his too loud laugh cutting through the restless energy in the green room.

The only one just as quiet as Adam was Jesse. But that’s because the keyboardist was meditating. While Adam... The frontman gnawed his lip, keeping his thoughts strictly on the present. They were performing in less than fifteen minutes. It really shouldn’t be that difficult of a feat, but Adam felt like he was playing a character since the band climbed out of the car. His fake smile to press and fluffy answers—for once, not even veering towards inappropriate—didn’t make his bandmates so much as bat an eye. Jordan was just pleased that Adam apparently took the lecture he received in the car and Bryan’s long voicemail to heart.

Adam had never been more grateful for the absolute chaos that surrounded any large event. Add that to celebrities with varying sizes of egos and entourages and the AMAs had the potential to completely implode. But the plethora of AMAs crew somehow wrangled together all the celebrities, kept fans and paps happy, and kept the AMAs on schedule.  

The throngs of people successfully distracted his bandmates and Adam barely had to do anything but maintain a polite smile and nod at the random people he made eye contact with (and gawk at the occasional celebrity. He was only human). Adam didn’t have to make up an excuse for his current wallowing mood, which his friends would notice on any regular day. But he didn’t meet up with them until a few hours ago, which was close enough to the AMAs that his uncharacteristic quiet was chalked up as nerves. It was sad that the one bright point in the past couple days was that Adam didn’t have to put forth any effort in lying to his friends.

Christ, maybe he and Blake deserved each other.

“Hey, boys,” Christina said, bursting into their room with a surprising lack of entourage, but with an unsurprising amount of flourish and sparkles on her white dress. That outfit would look fantastic under a spotlight. She paused as she surveyed the room. “I knew I should’ve come in sooner. You could suffocate in this tension.”

“I’m feeling fine,” Jesse said, cracking open one eye.

“You need to take control of the band,” Christina said. “Everyone else could use your zin.”

Adam didn’t realize until the momentary awkward silence that the entire room expected one of his usual deprecating hippie comments. Jesse frowned at him.

“We all have our own methods for dealing with nerves,” James said. “Some are healthier than others.”

Christina snorted. “To say the least. This is just a few steps above The Voice and you guys did brilliant there.”

“I think the AMAs is more than a few steps above The Voice,” Matt said faintly.

“Come on, Adam, quit slacking on your job as frontman and reassure your band,” Christina reproached semi-teasingly.

Adam glanced up from his spot on the couch, smoothing his expression to a smile that hopefully looked a hair more natural than his press smile. He shrugged. “It’s not like we can do worse than that Chicago radio interview.”

“True,” James said, vehemently latching onto the topic change like Adam knew he would. “Not reassuring in the least and took place in a smaller setting, but true.”

“What happened in Chicago?” Christina asked.

“Nothing major,” James said. “It was just early morning and the middle of touring so Adam’s voice sounded like shit, one of my guitar strings broke mid-song, and the interviewer made no attempts to hide how much he disliked our band.”

“He probably thinks we rely on autotune,” Mickey said.

“Did you not hear him?” Matt asked. “He thinks everyone on the radio relies on autotune.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t apologize to his listeners after we performed,” James said. “He seems the type.”

“He definitely bitched to his coworkers as soon as we left the room,” Mickey said.

“Don’t you just love inexperienced people critiquing your music?” Christina asked. “They always make my day brighter.”

“It’s my favorite pastime,” James said. “Of course, I usually yell at my TV during basketball games so I suppose this is karma.”

Christina shrugged. “Screw karma.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” James said. “I’m sure that messes up your aura. Right Jesse?”

“My aura is being cleared tomorrow,” Christina said. “I’m performing at Healing in the Heartlands. That’s bound to help.”

“What’s that?” James asked.

Christina frowned, her gaze flickering towards Adam. Adam swallowed, picking at his suit jacket. “Blake’s relief concert for the Oklahoma victims.”

His band was very unsubtle. All eyes instantly gravitated towards Adam. He practically felt them review and psychoanalyze his recent subdued behavior. He sighed. Damn, he really wanted to delay this as long as possible. At least they wouldn’t say anything too incriminating while Christina was here.

“We couldn’t perform,” Adam said, focusing solely on Christina. The diva, at least, was oblivious to any potential tensions between him and Blake. “Scheduling conflict.”

“What did you schedule the day after the AMAs?” Christina asked.

Adam suppressed a bristle at her surprised tone. Why was everyone surprised that he scheduled something after the AMAs? Did singers collectively take the day after an award show off to nurse hangovers and start a powwow? “A Letterman interview and concert. It was scheduled about a month ago. We couldn’t exactly back out.”

“When was the relief concert organized?” Jesse asked.

Adam narrowed his eyes at his friend’s innocent expression. “A few days ago.”

Jesse hummed.

Adam turned back to Christina, hoping that the diva would shield off any unwanted comments or concerned glances. A curt knock on the door and a poked head ruined that plan, but it interrupted any potential conversations so Adam counted it as a win.

“It’s time to get in places,” the stagehand said.

Adam clung to Christina’s side. Probably extremely obviously but he didn’t want to deal with his band’s interrogation right now. Not right before a performance. “When are you leaving for Blake’s show?”

“As soon as we’re finished performing,” Christina said, taking Adam’s offered arm. “I’m not nominated for anything and I need to drop Max off at his dad’s before I head out.”

Adam grunted, keeping up with the stagehand’s brisk pace. Thank God for the breed of no nonsense, schedule-driven stagehands the AMAs apparently hoarded. They finally stopped at a covered stage, a thin crack revealing a performing Pitbull and a distracted, already restless crowd of celebrities. A very bored Demi Lovato texted in the front row.

“Check your instruments,” the stagehand ordered the band. “Make sure everything is in order.”

Jesse, James, Mickey, and Matt obediently walked towards their equipment. Only James frowned at Adam before turning his attention to his guitar and tuning it.

“You’re a lot calmer during your first award show than I expected,” Christina said. “I know I nearly peed myself during mine.”

“You were probably also 12,” Adam said.

Christina waved dismissively. “Are you feeling ok?”

“I’m fine,” Adam said shortly. “I don’t need coddling.”

Christina blinked. Fuck. That came out harsher than he intended.

“Sorry,” Adam said, running a hand through his hair. “My mind is somewhere else right now.”

“Just focus on the song,” Christina said, studying him with a new intensity. Adam swallowed. He didn’t even think to guard himself from Christina’s potential interrogation. “This is just like any other performance. Don’t let whatever it is distract you from tonight.”

Adam sighed, ignoring the gazes from his unsubtle bandmates. Maroon 5 was already in position on stage, hidden in the dark while Pitbull and Kesha reached their chorus on an opposing stage. Luckily, his band was far enough away not to hear their words. “I’ve been trying.”

He should have chosen a cockier answer because Christina’s gave turned alarmingly sympathetic. “Relationship problems?”

His heart thudded. Was he really that obvious? He struggled to subdue his instinctive panic. “A bit left field, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Christina said. “Since you haven’t been chattering nearly as much as you normally do pre-show, you let the nerves get the best of your band, and your face has been commandeered exclusively by your press smile.”

“So your first instinct is that I have relationship problems?” Adam drawled. Shit, shit, shit. They’ve always been friendly, but their discussions never veered towards anything even remotely personal. Adam didn’t particularly want Christina’s unexpected perceptiveness to ruin that. They just had to get through the next few minutes and then Adam could escape. He just wanted to escape.

“Am I wrong?” Christina asked. “Relationships are the first to go when fame is introduced.”

Adam focused instead on Pitbull, who was jumping up and down on stage. It was reassuring that even established artists seemed just as clueless as he felt when it came to how to act during performances. “I think you’re looking too much into nerves.”

“Am I?”

God, the diva was persistent. “Yes,” Adam said firmly. “Don’t you need to climb up the stairs and get into position? You’ll give the stagehands a hernia if you don’t leave soon.”

The AMAs insisted on lowering Christina to the stage for her part of the song, which was apparently a common enough request because she didn’t bat an eye. She looked equally as unperturbed now as she shrugged at Adam’s suggestion, brushing her perfectly curled hair behind her shoulder. 

“I have plenty of time to get into position,” Christina said. “Your obvious change in subject is very telling, by the way.”

Adam struggled to maintain his neutral mask. Why couldn’t Christina just take the hint and leave it alone? “You’re looking too deeply into nothing.”

“Adam, I wasn’t your coach, but I know what how you act when your nervous,” Christina said, “and this isn’t it. You’re letting something fester. A strained relationship is the most likely candidate. So how new is it? Is this your first fight? Did the awe of your fame finally fade? Do they want more attention?”

For fuck’s sake, he did not want to talk about this. Not with Christina, preferably not with anybody ever.

Except Blake. Eventually.

“No offense, but why would I take relationship advice from you?” Adam asked. “You’re divorced and haven’t dated anyone long enough for it to be noteworthy.”

Christina examined her gleaming red nails, holding out a hand until one of the stagehands appeared seconds later and handed her a nail file. “If you lash out and avoid sensitive questions this much, no wonder you and your girlfriend finally fought. Part of being in a relationship is listening to their concerns no matter how much it offends you,” Christina said. “But what do I know? I’ve only been famous since I was 11 so all my relationships have been in the spotlight.”

“Just stop projecting your problems onto me,” Adam said.

“I was trying to help you since you’re in a unique situation. I wasn’t expecting this much idiotic resistance.”

“You don’t need to feel obligated to help me and complete your quota of good deeds for the day,” Adam said. “I’ve managed to get along this far.”

Christina scoffed. “Right, clearly all you’ve accomplished was done completely on your lonesome and without Blake’s help. I’m surprised your beloved mentor hasn’t nipped this bitchiness in the bud.”

Beloved mentor. Right. Because the public would never be privy to the fact that his and Blake’s relationship was anything but platonic. Something inside Adam twisted. The country singer left him without a backwards glance, ignoring Frankie’s whines, ignoring Adam’s wants. Blake fled when he should have stayed. The only goodbye was the slamming the front door.

Blake’s face twisting in a furious snarl flashed through his head. _Coaxing you through every little thing isn’t half as endearing as you think it is._

Adam sneered down at the diva. She knew nothing. “Playing mentor doesn’t suit you. Cold bitch is more your style. Maybe you should stick with your strengths.”

Christina eyes flashed as Pitbull practically screamed at the A-list crowd. “I’ll admit, Adam, you were one of the last singers from The Voice I thought would go full prima donna.”

“Don’t act like you know me past performing onstage,” Adam said. He felt eyes on them. His bandmates or stagehands, he had no idea. He vainly hoped that he and Christina didn’t look half as venomous as they sounded. Of course, Christina’s bitch face was in full swing.

“Even though you clearly have me all figured out,” Christina said as Pitbull’s music ended. “Congrats on finding someone that lasted long enough for you to get attached, even though I have no idea how you managed it. Now, don’t fuck up my AMA performance. Some of us value our reputations.”

Adam fought to keep his face neutral as the blonde turned sharply on her dangerously high heels and flounced up the stairs. He really shouldn’t be surprised that she used the spiral staircase as a dramatic exit.

“The host is introducing you both now,” the stagehand hissed from behind. “Mr. Levine, _get_ by your microphone.”

Adam took a breath, singing the beginning verse of Moves Like Jagger on autopilot. He refused to be the weak link performance. He scoped the audience, noting Demi’s phone disappeared. The front few rows danced and sang along, but who knows how much was for personal enjoyment and how much was directed at the cameras. Christina’s grand entrance wasn’t nearly as jarring as he expected. She sauntered across stage and danced next to Adam, effortlessly commanding the performance. Adam struggled to keep up.

The performance thankfully ended and Adam hoped that his and Christina’s tension wasn’t as palpable as it felt. He bowed as the last few notes of Moves Like Jagger died, giving Christina a quick, side-hug—never feeling faker than he did in that moment. The onstage affection was meant to combat the apparent ‘animosity’ tabloids claimed was between the duo, an animosity that ironically didn’t exist until about four minutes ago. He half-jogged to the adjoining stage. Stereo Hearts started playing as soon as he neared Gym Class Heroes.

Travie fist bumped him at his approach—delightfully oblivious to Adam’s problems and wonderfully solely concentrated on the performance—stepping to the side as Adam faced the crowd. The sea of faces was strangely familiar, familiar but foreign. Adam recognized most of the crowd, at least the ones close to the stage, but didn’t know any of them. There wasn’t a single person in the mass of people that genuinely cared about him. There wasn’t one person sincerely supportive and pleased. There were no familiar blues eyes staring proudly up at him. There was no lumbering country singer prepared to whisk Adam home as soon as the AMAs ended.

He closed his eyes, ignored the lump in his throat that kept appearing, and started singing.

Both performances went off without a hitch. Maroon 5 spent the rest of the evening waiting in tense silence as award winners were announced, Maroon 5 losing Breakthrough Artist. Adam groaned with his bandmates but finally relaxed after their failure was announced to a sea of uncaring people. After all, the cameras will now be blissfully focused elsewhere. The frontman finally let his expression darken and close off—not too much. He didn’t want people overanalyzing his bitterness. He was prepared to get lost in the moment, not thinking of the slight sting of Maroon 5’s loss and definitely not thinking of a certain blue eyed country singer.

Then Blake won Country Artist of the Year, which Adam forgot he was even nominated for because he’s a great boyfriend like that. Jesus, he failed at literally everything. Hank accepted on Blake’s behalf—because obviously the country singer was missing for reasons that left the crowd applauding and Adam wanting to sink into his chair—and Adam preemptively attempted to make his press smile more genuine, practically feeling a camera zoom in for a reaction shot. He just wanted to leave and drink cheap whiskey away from prying eyes. Instead he forced himself to clap and cheer for the next three hours.

 

_June 2011_

Instant eliminations were quite possibly the worst idea Adam ever heard of. The Voice producers apparently decided that performing live each week on millions of American’s TV screens, whose whims controlled your fate—because letting the masses dictate your chance of success wasn’t terrifying _at all_ —and in front of superstar coaches wasn’t stress-inducting and entertaining enough. Either through Blake’s convenient forgetfulness or desire to keep anything from impending on their team’s harmony—Blake’s words, not his—their coach didn’t mention the instant eliminations until last week.

Not that his delayed announcement did anything to stifle nerves now.

Adam jittered backstage—again, but Lucas couldn’t get angry. Team Blake’s group performance kicked off the show and Heather ordered them all to be in this nook—ignoring the rest of his team specifically and the world at large. He knew objectively that The Voice was a reality show and manufactured drama was part of the shtick. But for fuck’s sake, this bordered on cruel. As the show progressed, the talent grew more intimidatingly incredible and the thought of anyone going home became that much more of a travesty.

He despised the idea of one of his teammates being sent home nearly as much as he was by the idea of ending his own fleeting shot of fame. He cared about his team, even on The Voice where team spirit was encouraged, but not at all helpful in the actual competition. He blamed Blake and his aggressive team bonding.

Adam swallowed, glancing at the only other team member Jermaine, who didn’t acknowledge Adam’s presence when he arrived and whose head resolutely remained in his hands, as the soul singer was prone to do before any performance. Patrick and Raelynn had yet to make an appearance and their tendency of excessive panicking made their absences not at all reassuring. Not that this was a more tranquil atmosphere. Anxiety clawed at his throat. He inexplicably wished Blake was back here to distract him when Patrick finally joined them.

Adam ran a hand through his hair, probably pissing off Taylor, one of the hair stylists. Staying in show limbo where they performed weekly and no one got eliminated really seemed like an A+ idea. Anything was better than losing grip on The Voice dream. The show was a different world and he was not ready for reality yet.

“Oh good, I was worried you all started freaking out without me,” Patrick said, stopping next to Jermaine.

Adam scoffed. It sounded more like a strangled choke, but he blithely ignored it. “And I’m sure you weren’t freaking out before you joined us.”

‘In the bathroom’ was heavily implied but Patrick appeared entirely unfazed. “So where’s Raelynn?”

“Why? You worried about her?” Adam asked.

“She’s your shadow that panics the moment Carson breathes heavily,” Patrick said. “It seems odd that you’re not more concerned by her absence.”

“She’s with her parents,” Adam said. “I’m sure they have a good handle on things.”

“Ah yes the parents that want her to drop out of the competition sooner rather than later and focus on her studies aka a more realistic, boring career.”

Adam just gave him a look.

“She’s loud,” Patrick said. “It would be more shocking if I didn’t know.”

“They don’t want Rae to fail.”

Patrick’s face turned condescending.

“They don’t.”

“They’re not against her winning,” Patrick said. “They’re not irrational, but it’s obvious they want her to get singing out of her system so she can stop picturing this is a viable career. Fail now so she doesn’t fail later. Etcetera, etcetera. ”

“Failing is a part of any entertainment field,” Adam said.

“Unless you’re Christina or any of the other Mickey Mouse Clubbers,” Patrick said.

“What about Tony?” Adam asked.

Patrick shrugged. “Every rule has an exception.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, not realizing he trailed off and mulishly stared at Carson walking across the stage and past the four empty red chairs until Patrick sharply elbowed him.

“Stop brooding.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out more?” Adam asked. “You’re just...”

Patrick shrugged. “My nerves only make an appearance before and after the singing. Throwing up works wonders at vanishing nerves,” Patrick said, ignoring how Jermaine’s head jerked up at that. “It’s very convenient. It usually gets me at least a blissful ten minutes before I perform.”

“How nice for you,” Adam said.

“It’s better than whatever you do,” Patrick said.

“Debatable.”

“Don’t you essentially internalize your anxiety and get in everyone’s way?”

“Not always,” Adam said. “I also distract myself with other people.”

“Calming Raelynn before each show must be a Godsend for you,” Patrick mused. “Sounds torturous to me.”

“It does keep my mind off things,” Adam said.

“Like how the eliminated contestant tonight can’t perform with OneRepublic on tomorrow’s show?” Patrick asked.

Adam finally met Patrick’s eyes. He smirked at Adam’s scowl. “I didn’t think about that but thanks for the cheery thought.”

“It’s a competition,” Patrick said. “I would be remiss if I didn’t at least try to sabotage you.”

“How sportsmanly of you,” Adam said dryly.

“You know, it’s funny how much you don’t actually try to mess with people,” Patrick said. “I pegged you as a backstabbing, ‘gotta sacrifice everyone for personal gain’ type on day one.”

“I’m too anxious to worry about fucking with other people,” Adam said honestly.

“But not to help other panicking people, apparently,” Patrick drawled.

Adam shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond. So he attempted to deflect with humor. He pretended it was more successful. “Don’t make it gay.”

“Hard to make this group any more gay,” Patrick muttered, twirling his fedora back on his head with a flourish and ignoring Adam’s questioning look. “How about we agree I sing your parts during the OneRepublic song once your lover of the night eliminates you?”

“He’s not my lover of the night,” Adam said. “Stop being a dumbass.”

“So I can sing your bits when you get voted off?” Patrick asked.

“I only caught the tail end of that, so I would like everyone to know I’m at least more motivational than Patrick,” Blake said, entering their semi-secluded—as secluded any place backstage five minutes before a live show could get—with an arm slung around Raelynn’s shoulders. The group performance, which supposedly had no bearing on any of their standings, would hopefully be the warmup Rae needed to relax and make her smile more genuine during her solo performance.

“That’s still not saying much,” Adam said.

Blake shrugged. “I’m probably more motivational than you.”

“I doubt that.”

“He’s not the one currently sweating through his makeup,” Patrick said. Raelynn twitched, “and Raelynn, you look fine. Stop stressing.”

The teen sheepishly smiled—Adam used the word ‘smile’ generously—and shrugged, her small mirror slipping into her pocket. “Just had to make sure. Not all of us can get away with performing in jeans and a white t-shirt.”

“I’m wearing a dress shirt,” Adam said. Black would hopefully disguise his inevitable nervous sweat. Live shows were stressful enough without knowing that one of them was going home tonight.

Raelynn shot him a disbelieving look. “Your sleeves are rolled up and you’re wearing dark jeans. You’re the most casual out of all of us.”

“It’s not a competition,” Adam said, eyeing Patrick’s fedora and sleek bowtie and Jermaine’s polished suit sulkily. He didn’t clean up as nice as them. One of the producers attempted to convince Adam to dress up more formally until Blake stepped in and spewed some bullshit about how he wanted all his contestants loose and natural on stage. In reality, he knew how much Adam fought wearing a suit. They were too confining and foreign for Adam to truly feel at ease in one.

“Adam actually dressed himself this time,” Patrick said, straightening his fedora pointedly.  “You should at least give him kudos on not wearing Hawaiian print or one of his accountant shirts.”

“First off, fuck you my fashion choices are on point,” Adam said, “and second off, you wear fedoras. You can’t really critique anyone.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I look good in fedoras. Come up with a new insult.”

It was annoying that he couldn’t instantly think of a response. Patrick smirked triumphantly.

“Now, now, let’s not fight right before we go onstage,” Blake said.

“Why are we first?” Raelynn asked. “This is the worst.”

“They want to start strong,” Jermaine said, finally coming out of his pre-show stupor.

“Going first at least gets your performance out of the way so you can relax until the end of the show,” Adam said.

Raelynn fixed him with a stony stare. “I’m the last person to perform before the eliminations.”

“Um...strong last impression before Blake eliminates one of us?” Adam tried.

Raelynn’s looked nauseous as she straightened her dress for the umpteenth time.

A large hand grasped Adam’s shoulder. “How about we just focus on the song?” Blake suggested. “And not so much on the eliminations?”

“Yeah Adam I thought you were better at distracting Raelynn from certain doom,” Patrick said. The teen went impossibly paler.

Blake sighed. “I’m trying to maintain the calm.”

“What calm?” Adam asked. “Even your Bigfoot ass isn’t enough to distract us.”

“Plus you two aren’t nearly as entertaining as you usually are,” Patrick said, “which is very inconsiderate to Raelynn.”

Blake turned thoughtful, smirking down at where Adam leaned against the wall. It made him instantly wary. “True, I am being a neglectful coach.”

Adam squirmed as his coach’s smile turned more predatory. “Stop being creepy.”

Blake smiled a very serial killer-y smile and lunged. Adam hurled away from the wall too late. He squawked—very manfully—as hands suddenly tightened around his hips and he was flung effortlessly through the air. He grunted as his stomach landed squarely on Blake’s unnecessarily sharp shoulder.

“I’ll set the makeup artists on you,” Adam said, digging his elbows into Blake’s back. His glare only shifted when he heard Patrick’s snort. His eyes were bright under his fedora. Jermaine looked equally amused. Adam rolled his eyes. At least Raelynn looked less likely to combust.

Blake patted Adam’s leg, encroaching very close to butt territory. “You don’t have that type of leverage, rock star.”

“Fuck you,” Adam said, deciding that squirming and being general dead weight was the most effective method to his freedom. God knows what Heather would do to him if Blake got an accidental black eye from sporadic failing two seconds before show time.

“It’s certainly heading that way,” Patrick said.

Adam scowled. The blood rushing to his face had everything to do with him being practically upside down like a useless sack of potatoes on Blake’s back and nothing else. Yep. “You’re not accomplishing anything.”

“I’m distracting Raelynn,” Blake said, twisting to grin at Raelynn probably.

“Your stupidity constantly floors me,” Adam said.

“Ah, so that’s why Blake is holding you,” Jermaine said sagely. “You can finally experience new heights.”

“For fuck’s sake, your pun obsession needs to stop,” Adam snapped.

“That wasn’t a pun,” Jermaine said. “That was me being supportive.”

“He’s making fun of your height more than anything,” Blake said.

“Hey guys you’re on in...uh—”

“What is it, Paul?”

The PA’s eyes continued to dart between Blake and Adam and the rest of the contestants, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the oddity. Heather trained him well. “We’re going on in thirty. You guys will start after Carson’s recap and intro. Now get in positions.”

“Can’t ignore that authority,” Blake said, swinging Adam down just as easily as he picked him up. Adam felt slightly dizzy. “Alright team, before everyone goes on I just want to say—”

“That you’re proud of us and everything we accomplished so far in the competition,” Patrick drawled.

“I’m so happy you came out of your shell, Patrick,” Blake said.

“It’s such a thrill, isn’t it?” Patrick asked.

“I’m on the edge of my seat,” Adam said, hoping a sarcastic comment would deflect attention away from his still pink cheeks.

“Anyway,” Blake cut in, slinging his arms around Adam and Raelynn, “I hate to see any of you go, but I expect all of you to sing your heart out. Make this decision even more difficult for me and appeal to all the music producers tuning in.” Blake squeezed Adam—and presumably Raelynn—before releasing them. “Come on, let’s start this show off right.”

Raelynn and Jermaine followed their coach to the other end of the stage as Adam and Patrick were the only ones entering from stage left. Adam watched Carson begin his intro, his nerves from earlier gone.

He turned to catch Patrick’s knowing glance.

“What?”

“Is that your ‘I found a new fetish face’?” Patrick asked. “Because I have to live with that knowledge.”

No way to blame gravity on his flushed face now. “Shut up. We have a song.”

“And kicking off tonight’s show is Team Blake performing Gwen Stefani’s This Love,” Carson said, turning and clapping. Patrick was still smirking as Adam entered the stage, singing the first verse.

_October 2012_

Everything was chaotic.

Blake thanked arriving artists, shook hands with the Oklahoma governor, put idle stagehands to work—Hank always made this look so easy. Of course, his manger arrived a few hours ago and already vanished in the constant stream of seemingly endless tasks—and ensured for about the fiftieth time that the donation lines were set up.

Blake was making his fourth round around the stage when Miranda forced him to the green room for a required break. She said she would release him after she deemed him ready. His growling stomach cut off any of his protests as Miranda practically shoved him through the green room door.

The makeshift green room was larger and more star-studded than Blake, and he knew Oklahoma, was used to. Half of the artists were personal friends of Blake’s. The other half was recruited by Hank or NBC. All the artists mingled in the makeshift green room, which Blake and Sally, the administrator of this theater, not-so-cleverly made from the lobby. Healing in the Heartlands had a very small physical audience, causing the lobby traffic to be low. Most of their audience will be TV viewers, hopefully tons of TV viewers.

“This feels like the CMAs,” Blake said, approaching Usher and Kelly Clarkson by the sub table.

“I was just thinking that,” Kelly said. “I’m surprised how many people were able to show up.”

“Blake is very persuasive,” Usher said. “I think The Voice helped him realize his used car salesman potential.”

“I always knew reality television was evil,” Kelly said. Blake ignored them both in favor of the random sandwich he grabbed. He mechanically chewed it, barely registering the taste. Already his mind raced towards various other micromanaging details. Anything that distracted his brain from Adam.

“It’s okay,” Christina said, somehow entering the room with little fanfare. “I have arrived.”

“Glad you could make it,” Kelly said.

“Hank beat you here and he left the AMAs hours after you did,” Blake said. The AMAs that Maroon 5 left empty handedly. Blake couldn’t even bring himself to be vindictively happy. He was a terrible irate boyfriend.

“It’s not a competition, Shelton,” Christina said. “Some of us have more responsibilities to wrap up before they travel to Oklahoma. Plus, do you think _this_ happened on the flight over? The answer is a resounding no.”

“You look great, Christina,” Usher said.

“Thank you,” the diva said, arching an eyebrow at Blake.

“Thanks for coming,” Blake said.

“Wait, is Adam not with you?” Kelly asked.

Blake’s stomach lurched at her frown. Somebody hadn’t read the itinerary. Even though now her lack of interrogation about his absent boyfriend made sense.

“Nope,” Christina said shortly. Kelly’s frown never flickered from Blake. Not that Christina or Usher noticed. Yet. Blake never prayed for a dire complication to crop up. That changed now. He would take anything that would lead him safely away from Kelly. “He has a show tonight. Not that I think he can often be bothered to think of others.”

“He’s performing after the AMAs?” Kelly asked. Damn. Her frown somehow intensified but at least now it was split between Blake and Christina.

“So am I,” Christina said. “It’s not that impressive.”

“It’s just surprising that he planned a big show after an award show,” Kelly said. “A rookie mistake. I can’t believe you didn’t talk him out of that, Blake. That type of nonstop action isn’t healthy for anyone, especially since he just finished touring. He’ll burn out if he keeps at this pace.”

Blake’s snide remark died in his mouth, even if the diva would immediately jump onto that particular conversation—Christina was never subtle when something displeased her. It was apparent that Adam somehow earned her ire. But it wasn’t just confirming Kelly’s suspicions that held his tongue.

He didn’t want to bad mouth Adam, especially when most of the world was oblivious to the cause of his dark mood.

If only Blake went with his instincts when Adam first told him about Letterman—a couple months ago, maybe?—then their argument never would have transpired, Adam would be here, and their other arguments would also hopefully be delayed until Blake had better prepared responses. God, just thinking of Adam beside him, cracking jokes, keeping the flighty younger artists calm, stopping Blake from toppling over the brink with a quick squeeze of his hands or even a stolen kiss...

“I wish I had,” Blake said.

He really wanted Adam’s easy presence right now. Blake relied on Adam as stress relief just as much as Adam relied on him. Blake wanted to fall into the comfort of Adam’s arms. But glaring hazel eyes rose in his mind whenever he lingered too long on the frontman. He swallowed. Adam had been eager enough to kick Blake out.

The gazes of the two women drilled into him. The all-too-knowing, concerned gaze from Kelly he anticipated. He had no idea how to respond to Christina’s frown other than blinking back stupidly. Usher bit a sandwich obliviously.

“Nothing you can do about it now. It’s not like he can two places at once,” Usher said flippantly. “I have a feeling we’ll all survive without Adam.”

“Survive,” Blake said. “Right.”

Kelly itched closer to him. Blake could almost imagine the heinous excuse she used to get him alone, lying about something as simple as talking to Hank or going over the set list would never occur to her.

Not that Blake wanted to talk about Adam, especially in public. What the relief concert didn’t distract him from, Jack Daniels surely did. Usher was the perfect drinking partner. He was one of the few that didn’t mind Blake’s tendency to drink to cope with his feelings. The R&B singer apparently accepted the inevitable and at least ensured Blake didn’t do anything too stupid. It also helped that Usher was oblivious to said boyfriend troubles.

Blake didn’t want to think about Adam. Not his biting words, not his unforgiving stance. Not the pure anguish in his eyes when angry retorts burned out of his mouth.

Blake cleared his throat. “I’m going to make sure that Hank doesn’t need help.”

“You sure?” Usher asked. “You just got here.”

“There’s a lot of shit I still need to take care of,” Blake said, turning away from Kelly’s worry, away from Christina’s vaguely vexed—and no doubt Adam-focused—sneer. He saw the door, the Kelly-free and undoubtedly Adam-free zone. But then he faltered mid-escape as Christina turned to Usher, complaint seconds from escaping her mouth. It could be about anyone, but there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that she would talk about Adam.

He interrupted the diva before her complaint could gain traction.

“Also, Christina?” Blake said. “Whatever Adam said or did, it was probably nerves or something personal. He’ll apologize and probably send muffin baskets to compensate for any assholery that escaped his mouth when he was in his funk. He’s not a bad guy or egotistical. He’s just...going through stuff.”

Christina blinked. Her expression remained unchanged but her face lost its sharp lines of irritation. Raw concern swelled in Kelly’s eyes. Usher just stared at him, finally sensing the undercurrent to Blake’s words. Time to take his cue.  He hurriedly fled away before the trio could do more than blink. He had a show to run.

 

_June 2011_

“Everyone is so good tonight,” Usher said. Blake leaned against the R&B singer’s chair. The show was in their second commercial break. Christina left her seat to consult quickly with a nearby member of her team. Chris Manning had emerged from backstage because Heather never let the coaches wander too far from their seats. Cee Lo sat on the other side of the stage, flirting with one of the makeup artists.

“My team is distinctly better,” Blake said, “but yes.”

“Let’s see how your boy does against Rita,” Usher said. “She’s performing right after Adam.”

“You know which way I’ll lean,” Blake said.

“Adam is your favorite,” Usher said.

“As if Rita isn’t yours,” Blake said.

Usher nodded, leaning against the arm of his chair. “Looks like we’ll need to take to iTunes for this. Whichever singer is higher on the charts tomorrow will win.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “You want to bet on it?”

“Why not?” Usher asked.

“You have a gambling problem,” Blake said. “I feel like we need an intervention.”

Usher stared as Blake took another drink out of his generic Voice cup. “So is that a no?”

“Places, Blake and Christina,” Heather said. “We’re live in fifteen.”

“What’s the bet?”

Usher grinned. “A thousand?”

“A thousand?” Blake said “I’ll take that.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Usher said as Blake sat down. Blake smiled faintly, mind already racing.

The country singer rubbed his mouth as Carson began chatting to the camera. Usher was right. Everyone was good tonight, not that Blake expected anything different, but usually at least a few singers had an off night. Jermaine remained at the high standard Blake learned to expect from the soul singer. Patrick specifically surprised him before The Voice went into commercials. Performing classics like Jukebox Hero was almost more difficult than performing something top 40 because nostalgia made everyone pickier. But Patrick somehow made the rock classic his own and it was phenomenal.

Not that Blake wanted anyone on his team to fail but, despite his earlier words, he secretly hoped at least one of his team members had a slightly off night. But with Jermaine and Patrick’s incredible performances, the instant elimination tonight became that much more impossible. Assuming their performances went anything like their practices, Adam and Raelynn would no doubt continue his team’s incredible hot streak.

Blake lightened his frown as the clip of his and Adam’s preparation played on the screen and Adam walked to the middle of the stage, guitarless despite his initial protest. The studio audience cheered and he waved awkwardly back. Blake smiled when Adam caught his eye.

He really didn’t want Adam to be the weak link.

“And singing Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You is Team Blake’s Adam Levine!” Carson announced. The audience renewed their cheers as prompted. Blake licked his lips as the music started, swelling behind Adam, who looked uncharacteristically sharp in an actual dress shirt. They were slowly working their way up to a full suit, which Adam would no doubt look incredible in. Blake just hoped that he had the opportunity to bribe him into one later.

 

_“Some people live for the fortune_

_Some people live for the fame_

_Some people live for the power_

_Some people live just to play the game_

_Some people think that the physical things define what’s within_

_And I’ve been there before and that life’s a bore_

_So full of the superficial_

_Some people want it all_

_But I don’t want nothing at all...”_

 

Blake grinned as Adam went into his effortless falsetto. He caught Usher’s eyes and mouthed “easy money.” His friend shook his head, his eyes inevitably drawn back to Adam. Blake didn’t blame him, Adam was naturally captivating. 

_“If it ain’t you baby_

_If I ain’t got you baby...”_

_October 2012_

His press smile felt like it was permanently engraved onto his face. The downside of having a job right after an award show was that his stiff face didn’t get the chance to recuperate and he didn’t have the option to get hammered. He ignored a couple wide-eyed stagehands in favor of escaping into the green room. Maroon 5 immediately parted after the AMAs—more like Adam claimed he wanted to rest instead of attending after parties. Same difference. His bandmates seemed to mostly believe him.

It was too early to start warming up for the Letterman concert and Adam was only on the actual David Letterman show for about five minutes at the end. A short enough blurb to get viewers to watch their live concert but not long enough that Adam needed to pull more than one charming anecdote out of his ass.

Adam hesitated outside the door, the lamented Maroon 5 nameplate already peeling. This would be the first time post-fight that Adam was stuck with his bandmates without them being conveniently distracted. But maybe they would randomly be nervous for Letterman? Specifically nervous enough that they don’t comment on Adam’s continued uncharacteristic behavior.

He stepped into the green room, trying not to wince when all four pairs of eyes immediately stared at him. Damn.

“Okay, you’re going to talk,” Jesse said. James closed the door behind him and crossed his arms ominously. Jesus Christ. It’s not like he was going to run away. Even though he was hard-pressed to say if talking to his friends about something he deliberately avoided thinking about was preferable than flirting with a few stagehands and mingling with the other celebrity guests.

Alright, act natural. Adam rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “You guys are seriously overreact—”

“Jesse and I have known you since first grade,” Mickey said. “You can’t bullshit your way out of this. We’re going to sit down and talk about our feelings.”

“Yeah, how about n—”

“Specifically your feelings and whatever the fuck is going on between you and Blake,” James said.

Adam froze. “Who said anything is going on between me and Blake?”

“Adam, we’re not stupid,” James said. “You’ve been in a mood all week. At first we thought your silence and deliberate avoidances were nerves but then we actually saw you. Only Blake can get you like this.”

“Well he’s an asshole.” Adam’s attempt to deflect completely failed.

“What happened?” Jesse asked. James’ face darkened. The guitarist was the last one in the band to warm up to Blake so Adam wasn’t all that surprised.

“We fought,” Adam said.

“About what?” James asked. “Last time you were like this, Blake was having a closeted freak out because you almost kissed.”

Adam snorted, bitterness creeping into his mouth. Oh how some things never change. “Basically that.”

There were varying degrees of disbelief—and a depressingly unsurprised reaction from James that caused a pang that Adam refused to analyze—from his bandmates.

“Really?” Jesse frowned. “But I thought he’d come out for you. Not now, but definitely in the future. He’s obviously in lo—”

Adam scoffed loudly, taking a drink of water and wishing it was something much stronger. He really couldn’t hear the rest of that sentence. “He’s so devoted to the closet I feel like his mistress. He won’t leave it no matter what I do. I can’t waste time hoping he’ll change when it’s really fucking obvious he won’t.”

James just shook his head, lips pressed into a hard, straight line.

“Blake even said I was inattentive,” Adam said, “but he’s in the same exact career I am. He should know how time consuming it is, especially when you’re starting out.”

James snorted. “He of all people should know how much effort it takes to be successful. Sure you get single-minded, but that doesn’t excuse his hypocrisy.”

Adam grunted, taking another swig of water to justify his lack of response. It was eerie hearing Blake’s point echoing from someone trying to take Adam’s side. Eerie and painful. He hadn’t been that ‘single-minded’ while touring, had he? “Right?”

“Especially since he won’t fucking even discuss coming out,” James muttered. “It’s pathetic.”

“Adam isn’t publically out either,” Jesse said.

“Adam isn’t out because of that asshole,” James snapped.

Jesse just stared, firmly ignoring Adam’s scowl. “Adam is the most stubborn person I know. If he wanted to be out, he would be. Blake or no Blake.”

“I haven’t magically vanished. Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Adam said. “Also you know I wouldn’t come out if it pressured Blake to follow me. I wouldn’t put anyone in that position, especially someone—” Adam forcibly cut himself off. He took a breath. “I’m not that much of a dick. I wanted to wait until he’s ready, but I honestly doubt that’ll ever happen.”

“Just because he’s not publically out doesn’t mean he’s ashamed of you,” Jesse said. “It’s different coming out to millions of—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Adam snapped. “Ever since The Voice you and Michael have been hounding me to come out to the world. But apparently my concerns don’t matter unless they’re applicable to a country bumpkin.”

Jesse blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lecture me about the difficulties of coming out to the public. Trust me. I understand what it’s like to for your every move and choice to be under public scrutiny. I know, okay?” Adam said, running a hand through his hair. “But coming out is worse than just losing some fans. Coming out could ruin your career and that’s terrifying.”

 “You’re scared, Adam,” Jesse said gently. “Can you really blame Blake for feeling the same way?”

Adam flinched, but hoped that his pacing hid it. It felt like Jesse stabbed him in the gut. Even his friends were apparently more considerate about Blake’s feelings than him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Adam, times are changing,” Jesse said. “A more well-known star like you or Blake could pave the way for others who are too scared to—”

“I don’t want to be the head of any public movement,” Adam said. “That sounds as unappealing now as it did the first day. Pick a new angle.”

“It just takes one person to make a difference,” Jesse said. Adam rolled his eyes. The hippie’s face tightened. “Just think what someone like you can—”

“Find someone else to lead the gay pride parade,” Adam said just to break the little calm Jesse maintained.  The keyboardist’s eyes flashed.

“Fine don’t think big picture,” Jesse said. “If you come out acting cocky and like nothing can keep you down—so basically how you’ve acted you’re entire life—and you’re still successful, imagine what it’ll do for Blake. Unless you’re over that phase of your life now.”

“Blake isn’t a phase,” Adam snapped. “I just don’t want to be secret fuck buddies for the rest of our lives. I have to think long-term. I thought you would appreciate that since you’ve practically been engaged to Michael since you were 19.”

“Fuck buddies?” Matt scoffed. Adam turned, blinking at the drummer’s outburst. “Don’t demean your relationship. You are the exact opposite of fuck buddies.”

“Don’t act like an expert, Flynn,” Adam said. “I think I know the state of my relationship better than you.”

“Don’t act?” Matt repeated. “Alright, how about this: Out of all of us, I’ve been around you and Blake the longest, even before you openly acknowledged your feelings for each other, which, I’ll be honest, weren’t all that hidden to begin with.”

“We were not—”

Matt just held up a hand, cutting off the frontman. “You both are fine by yourselves. Stubborn and incredibly obnoxious in your own ways, but fine. But when you’re in the same room it’s like someone flipped a switch. You thrive on each other. You practically light up when Blake enters the room.  I doubt that’s changed since you started dating and I know if those feelings were that strong after a month of meeting then they would not lead to a ‘fuck buddy’ situation.”

“Stop acting like you know what’s happening,” Adam said. “You weren’t there. When Blake and I started dating—”

“Adam, we were all there,” Jesse said.

“You weren’t there during our fight,” Adam said. “So fuck off.”

“What did Blake say in your fight?” Matt asked. “What did he say that convinced you to give up and leave him? Why do you think he won’t sacrifice anything for you, even after everything he did for you on The Voice? What did he say that makes you think he’s a permanent resident of the closet?”

Adam opened his mouth and closed it. Nothing specifically. Blake ran away before that particular subject ever got too heated. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Of course, he never tried too hard to convince him to stay. Maybe he subconsciously expected Blake to be the bigger person and stay despite Adam obviously ready to chew him out. Blake had a shit ton more issues surrounding coming out, which Adam knew. It was kind of the byproduct of not growing up in the obnoxiously accepting household Adam did. Teen Adam never even thought about half the concerns that plagued Blake growing up. He glanced at Jesse, who remained ever watchful. He wondered if his friend was more insistent that he came out than he ever was with Blake because Adam grew up knowing different sexualities wasn’t a bad thing. The same couldn’t be said for Blake.

Matt stared at him expectantly. Adam looked away.

“He said he didn’t want to deal with it right now,” Adam said.

“Dick,” James said. Matt glowered at the guitarist.

“He can’t put your relationship on backburner,” Mickey said.

His friends’ words weren’t as reassuring as he thought they’d be. “To be fair, he said it because he just found out about tornados wrecking Oklahoma. He had a lot on his plate.”

“If he doesn’t think you’re worth coming out for after all this time you need to leave him,” James said flatly. Adam stopped his pacing to stare at the guitarist. “Tornado or no, the relationship is clearly not going anywhere if Blake is still having a sexual crisis.”

His mouth was suddenly dry. Breaking up was too final and foreboding for Adam to think about longer than a split second. He quickly restarted his pacing.

“Fucking stop all of you,” Matt said. All eyes focused on the drummer. Matt, as the newest addition to the band, had never been on the reprimanding side of any group argument. Adam hated that he chose today to change that.  “I’ve been in the longest relationship out of everyone in this group. The only other one who’s been in a relationship nearly as long as me is Jesse, who, if you noticed, is also not calling for Blake’s murder.”

“I don’t need to be in a long-term relationship to be able to tell when one is about to crash and burn,” James said.

“Just shut up,” Matt said, “and Adam, everything you’re talking about? Fucking talk to Blake about it.”

Adam glowered. It was weak, but it was there. Fight was rapidly leaving him. Adam struggled to keep it. With no anger, he had nothing to distract him from the ache in his chest. “I’m not the one that walked out—”

“Tough,” Matt said. “You’re in a relationship. This is your first big fight. Get over it. Force him to stay when he runs. Force him to talk. You know he bolts when he’s scared and the quickest way to scare him is losing you.”

“That fucking goes both ways,” Adam said. “If Blake does actually feel that way.”

“You know he does,” Jesse said.

“It’s not like I want to lose Blake,” Adam said heatedly, not even acknowledging Jesse. “It’s worse because I lost him before we even started dating. I knew from the beginning that he was terrified of coming out, but I still—stupidly—dated him, even though I’d be kept hidden. Because it’s Blake. I can’t help it. He just makes me so God-damned happy when I don’t want to strangle him. Do you know how frustrating it is to love somebody who clings to you constantly unless there’s a camera pointed at you? Somebody you practically live with but still feel like you can’t introduce to your family? Somebody who you’re still not entirely sure has told his friends about you?

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I made him promise day one that he wouldn’t just up and leave and then this happened and he couldn’t get out the door fast enough.”

“Adam, whenever one of you is even slightly irritated, seeing the other makes you happier,” Matt said. “I got that and I didn’t even see you on set together most of the time. You’re both miserable right now. You need to talk to him. These problems will always be there. Either talk them out—”

“Or get the fuck away from him because he won’t change,” James said, staring at Matt challengingly. Matt looked murderous.

“One of you needs to be the adult,” Matt said, forcibly ignoring the guitarist. “I don’t want you to throw away something just because you were too stubborn and pissed to think past the now.”

“But it just...” Adam swallowed. How could one person make Adam feel this much? He expected to feel empty, but that was too painless for someone like Blake. Blake left a pulsing gash when he slammed the door. “It hurts so much.”

“Of course it does,” Matt said. “That’s what happens when you love somebody. Everything is amplified, even the bad things.”

“It sucks,” Adam said, sitting down because the weight of everyone’s stares increased tenfold as soon as his anger evaporated, leaving his pain undisguised.

“It does,” Matt said, “but it can be worth it.”

Adam just grunted wondering if there was a neat way to change the conversation or at least direct their relentless attention elsewhere. No one dared break the silence. Not even James, who closed his mouth as soon as Adam accidentally caught his eyes. James’ glower turned to pity and Adam hurriedly looked away.

“Let’s just not talk about it anymore, okay?” Adam asked. He was too drained for subtleties.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, we can do that.”

The silence was awkward but Adam refused to look at anyone. Apparently his bandmates couldn’t even fake small talk. Someone—probably Mickey—turned on the TV. Adam’s two seconds of relief at the distraction faded when he realized what program was playing. Adam stiffened, feeling all eyes swivel to him.

The TV was on NBC, ironic since Letterman was a CBS show. Adam stared at the Healing in the Heartlands logo in the bottom corner of the screen. Mickey fumbled with the remote, muttering an apology.

He released a breath. “Leave it on. I won’t break.”

Blake wasn’t on camera—Adam realized with a jolt that TV Blake would be the first time he saw his boyfriend post-fight—and he couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. Blake always excelled in mucking up his emotions.

Kelly Clarkson and Miranda Lambert graced the screen with their duet, the donation number fixed at the bottom of the screen. Adam felt a pang. They were two of Blake’s friends he knew for a fact were aware of their relationship. Blake didn’t have obnoxious friends who knew about their secret relationship and lived about ten minutes away. Maroon 5’s loud teasing drowned out Blake’s absent friends.

Adam swallowed. Blake was out to people who mattered. He told him that before they even started dating. Sure, that number of people wasn’t as large as Adam’s—he’s been out most of his life, which honestly begs the question of why no one from Almatrax or an old neighbor or disgruntled boyfriend had come forward since Maroon 5 hit top 40—but Blake isn’t ashamed of him. Blake was doing the same thing Adam was: telling only close friends and hinting of a boyfriend’s existence to his family. Which was changing soon enough. Adam informed his parents that he was bringing an extra guest to Hanukkah just like Blake told a probably still all-knowing Dorothy to set an extra plate for Christmas.  

He was so worried that Blake would never come out and continue to hide him and here they were a couple months away from meeting families—something Adam rarely did and something Blake, to the best of Adam’s knowledge, had never done. Who cares if People Magazine didn’t know they were fucking? Blake already took huge steps during their relationship. His friends knew, his family was coming into the loop soon enough. People who mattered knew about them, the casual fan or avid reporter did not. That was enough, especially for someone as private as Blake.

Christ, Adam was selfish.

 _“Hey, y’all.”_ Adam jolted, eyes instantly gluing to the screen as Blake walked to the middle of the stage, wearing a dark navy suit and reminding Adam sharply of The Voice. Cheers that were dying from Miranda and Kelly’s duet renewed vigorously. The cameras zoomed out to a wide shot as all the musicians—Usher stopping next to Blake—lined behind the country singer. _“I just want to thank everyone who donated money tonight. We raised over $7 million. Y’all are amazing and I know Oklahoma is grateful.”_

There was more clapping and the screen finally settled on a close-up of Blake’s face. He looked exhausted like he hadn’t stopped moving since Monday. Even his blue eyes, usually so lively were solemn. Adam leaned forward, soaking in his boyfriend.

Blake cleared his throat. _“I’d like to thank all my friends and loved ones for supporting me and being here when I needed them the most.”_

Adam flinched. Of course, it’s not like Blake was lying. Adam fucked off the first time Blake genuinely needed him. He really was the worst boyfriend.

Blake stared directly into the camera. Adam resisted cowering. But then Blake’s face softened and traitorous hope swelled in Adam. _“And even if you couldn’t make it, I know you wanted to. You’ve helped in ways you couldn’t imagine and I’ll never take that for granted.”_

Adam’s heart stopped. That wasn’t the badly hidden jab he feared. Blake wasn’t smiling, but there was no doubting his sincerity. Distantly, he felt the stares of his bandmates, but Adam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the country singer, forgiving despite nearly a week of silence, understanding despite the obvious lack of boyfriend that should be standing in Usher’s place.  He never wanted to be somewhere else more.

 _“Now, I’d like to thank all of y’all for taking the time to tune in. Just remember every little bit you donate can go a long way,”_ Blake said, returning to his usual stage bluster, though it was more subdued tonight. _“I want to wish y’all a goodnight before we sing our final song.”_

A knock on the door and an overly cheerful PA entered the green room as the group of musicians behind Blake started singing a Queens song. “This way, Mr. Levine. It’s time to touch up your makeup before you head to David’s couch.”

Adam blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from the TV. His mind reeled as he brought out his press smile. “Sounds good.”

_June 2011_

All the teams huddled together, waiting their cue to be walk to the stage and preemptively end someone’s time on The Voice. As expected, the atmosphere backstage was not the most welcoming. Adam almost gagged on the tension.

He released another wavering breath before glancing at Rae. She was the last to perform but the commercial break was long enough for her focus to leave and her nerves to return in full force. Similarly, it’s been more than ten minutes since Patrick’s performance so Patrick was also green-faced. Even Jermaine’s usual meditative state was failing. The soul singer was the most anxious Adam had ever seen him—so basically there was a sheen layer of sweat on his otherwise calm face.

“Team Blake, go onstage,” Paul said, hand glued to his headset.

The unfortunate side effect of Team Blake kicking off the show was apparently they were also the first to go through Instant Eliminations. Adam hated it. Raelynn’s eyes were wide as the team walked in front of the cameras at Carson’s onstage announcement. The spotlights burned into their faces.

“...and now it’s time for one of their journeys to come to an end,” Carson said.

Adam nudged Raelynn as they all stood in the middle of the stage. Rae gave him a half smile, still shaking slightly. Adam glanced to his other side, but Patrick stared listlessly ahead. Even the layers of makeup couldn’t hide that he looked three seconds away from hurling.  

“Blake, any last words for your team?” Carson asked.

Adam wrapped an arm around Rae, who immediately latched onto him with a vicelike grip, and then the other around Patrick just to see him startle onstage and shoot him a withering glare. He didn’t move away from Adam’s hold though.

“Y’all just had to make things difficult,” Blake said. “Every single one of you was fantastic tonight, absolutely extraordinary. I’m proud to call myself your coach.”

The audience clapped and Rae trembled next to Adam. A lump suddenly rose in Adam’s throat. One of his teammates, one of his friends, was going home today. Or either Adam was. He threw himself into his performance tonight but so did everyone else. He swallowed, rubbing Rae’s arm. He didn’t want anyone to go home, but it was either him or them. He hated that this show made him feel like he was pitting friendships against his singing career.

“All of you have improved so much,” Blake said. “I hate that I have to send any of you home. No one deserves to leave.”

“Who do you send home?” Carson asked as one of the PAs flashed the digital clock behind the camera. Each team should be up here for 45 seconds max. The one fallback of the heart stopping, last second decisions during a live episode was that they were always on a time crunch.

Blake’s face turned solemn, which made Adam shift uneasily, as his blue eyes focused on each team member. “Tonight, I’m going to send home...”

Rae’s grip tightened around Adam’s waist. Adam only had eyes for Blake. Usually seeing his coach soothed his nerves, but he supposed when Blake might send him home, the calming effect was dulled.

“I really want to keep you all, but I know that I can’t.” He sighed. “This is nothing against you, but tonight I’m sending home Patrick.”

Thank God. Rae turned their hold into a full embrace and Adam gave her a one armed hug as he instantly turned to his other side. He guiltily clamped down on his relief. Patrick’s face was now inscrutable.

“I’m sorry that you have to go, Patrick,” Carson said. “Any words for you coach?”

For a moment, Adam thought he would refuse the offered microphone, but then Patrick grabbed it. It’s not like he could look bitter on national television. “Just...thanks for turning around when no one else did. You changed my life.”

That was surprisingly sincere.

The audience cheered while Team Blake was ushered offstage, Team Cee Lo quickly taking their place. Carson’s voice faded as Adam, Rae, Jermaine, and Patrick walked deeper backstage. They passed The Voice musicians. Matt and Aly nodded as Adam passed, the drummer shooting Patrick—whose face remained stoic—a sympathetic look.

Adam traded glances with Jermaine. Rae’s giddiness was taking a badly hidden backseat as she became aware of Patrick’s mood. Not that Patrick had openly reacted yet. If Patrick was screaming or crying—not that Adam could see Patrick doing the latter except possibly in private—then he would know how to act. Well, not really, but Adam would at least know what was going through the newly eliminated singer’s head.

Jermaine shrugged, equally clueless of what to do, but the soul singer gave Adam a pointed look. He grimaced. He did know Patrick the best out of all of them. Didn’t mean he knew what to say.

“Um sorry—” Adam began.

“Don’t apologize,” Patrick said, sounding condescending as usual, but his face had yet to change past his fallback sneer.

Adam tried again. “You know Blake is still going to help—”

“Right because a coach with country music connections is so helpful for someone like me,” Patrick drawled.

 “He has more connections than you think,” Jermaine rumbled.

“You’re the one who picked Blake,” Adam said.

“No, he’s the only one who turned around,” Patrick said. “Not all of us had the benefit of a choice.”

“You still made it really fucking far on The Voice,” Adam said. “That’s more opportunity and exposure than most starting musicians. Stop being ungrateful.”

Patrick chuckled humorlessly, tapping his fedora out of its usual jaunty angle. “I should’ve known it was me that would be eliminated. It’s inevitable really. The last country singer, the token black guy, the favorite, or me. I doubt anyone was surprised by Blake’s choice.”

“You know Blake doesn’t let his personal feelings affect his decisions,” Adam said. Jermaine glared at Patrick as Rae shuffled behind the taller man, seemingly trying to edge away. Both were unimpressed with Patrick’s current mood. Adam really didn’t want it to escalate to the point where one of them—namely Jermaine—responded.

“Maybe I should’ve taken a note from your book and flirted with Blake,” Patrick mused. “You didn’t stab people in the back but you sure as hell knew how to manipulate the cameras. I was focusing on the wrong strategy this entire time.”

Adam stiffened. He made it this far on his voice. Not because of his and Blake’s banter, not because of his looks, because of his voice _._  “I’m not here because I play to the cameras.”

“Well it certainly doesn’t _hurt_. I can’t believe I forgot that our fate is left up to the masses. I didn’t endear myself to them quite as effectively as you did,” Patrick said. His face turned considering. “Or our coach, who keeps you as long as it’s within his power.”

Adam’s insides twisted uncomfortably. Blake wouldn’t play favorites—not that Adam was his favorite—especially since he tried so hard to be fair. A man who played favorites wouldn’t drop everything for all of his team members. A man who played favorites wouldn’t struggle so much with eliminations.

Blake wasn’t biased. Blake couldn’t be biased.

“Oh shut your trap,” Raelynn said. Adam blinked. He thought the blonde was running away, but now she stood glaring at Patrick. Patrick seemed equally thrown. “Don’t take your sour grapes out on Adam and Blake. Blake isn’t throwing you to the dogs. He’s been willing to help out everyone since day one. Why else would he give out his personal cell phone number?” Rae stomped forward and prodded Patrick’s chest aggressively with her finger. “Stop being petty and throwing tantrums just because The Voice is over for you. Someone else is going home tomorrow and what will be your reasoning then?”

Patrick stared at her for a moment. His sneer finally vanished, leaving a vaguely sheepish Patrick in its wake. “That depends entirely on who gets eliminated. I could reason that you get kicked off for sexist reasons.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rae said. The faintly challenging gleam had yet to leave her eyes. “Now good luck post-Voice. I hope I see you at the season wrap up party. Don’t run away before Blake can find you and be sad like he always is no matter who’s sent home.”

With a firm nod, Raelynn left the portion of the hallway Team Blake commandeered and continued towards the singer’s lounge. Jermaine muttered a low ‘good luck’ and followed the southern belle.

Patrick turned to Adam. Adam just raised an eyebrow, pretending Patrick didn’t effortlessly rattle him. “Uh, sorry.”

“To repeat your earlier bitchy request: Don’t apologize I’m brooding,” Adam said.

Patrick rolled his eyes but he fiddled with his fedora again so Adam figured most of Patrick’s quota of condescension was depleted. “I just got eliminated. Am I not allowed a grace period to spout irrational things?”

“So not a single one of your complaints was genuine?” Adam asked.

Patrick shrugged. “Well, I didn’t mean for them to come out as petulant as they did. Everyone is here on their own merit, even you.”

“Aww thanks, sweetie,” Adam drawled, even though Patrick’s words took a slight edge off Adam’s apprehension.

“Of course, I’ll believe that you’re here on your own merit if you keep making it through America’s vote until the final round,” Patrick said, but his smirk was more mischievous than cruel.

“Dick,” Adam said.

“Teacher’s pet,” Patrick said.

Adam glanced down the hallway. The other teams had already passed by in various emotional states. He saw at least five sets of teary eyes. Apparently Blake’s team wasn’t the only team to get close.

“Blake’s coming,” Adam said. “I’ll leave. I don’t want to distract him from offering the help you so desperately need.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. Adam smiled innocently and turned towards the singer’s lounge.

“Hey,” Patrick said. Adam paused. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

_October 2012_

Adam fidgeted in his house. He’d been fidgeting for the past couple days. Maroon 5 had the next week with off—originally a break Adam planned to spend at Blake’s ranch before Blake got caught up with the Country Music Awards and the newest Voice season.

The clock ticked to 2:15. Blake should be here any minute. He arrived at LAX about thirty minutes ago. It felt weird not picking up the country singer but he really didn’t want to have this conversation in the car and he definitely didn’t want to fake normalcy for the duration of the car ride over here. So instead he waited. He waited and vainly re-straightened the various magazines Behati and Anne kept sending him because they were both randomly concerned he didn’t have any coffee table entertainment. He didn’t realize that was a requirement for a house.

Adam stared at his phone, which was open to his and Blake’s short conversation. You could pinpoint the exact day the fight happened. Adam was just grateful he was never drunk enough to phone or text the country singer in the days that passed.

The most recent text Adam sent simply stated that they needed to talk, which felt ominous to type but adding an emoji or anything slightly heartening seemed out of place. Especially when Blake just text back “Ok.” Period and everything. Who does that? What does that mean?

He was shit at guessing a deeper meaning behind words or lack thereof, which apparently led to Adam flatly ignoring Blake during his tour—the start of his neglect? Adam hated that he wasn’t certain. He initially assumed Blake was the type to always say what was on his mind. Unfortunately, Blake hid things as much as Adam flatly blurted unwanted opinions and probably inappropriate responses.

Frankie barked as the doorbell rang. A much younger bark quickly joined the golden retriever which Adam ignored. His heart was suddenly caught it his throat. Oh God what if Blake just came out of pity? Or the concert’s final speech was a fluke and the country singer was still pissed—he used fucking punctuation with his “ok”—and stayed long enough to scream in Adam’s face and then never talk to him again?

The frontman released a deep breath. He needed to open the door.

 

* * *

 

He cannot flee no matter what Adam looked like. Angry? Probably. His one point of contact revealed nothing of his emotional state. Undoubtedly sexy? Definitely. But he couldn’t get distracted by Adam’s face, which he hadn’t seen except for the Maroon 5 and Gym Class Heroes AMA performances on his iPhone screen on the plane back to LA. Ogling would either further piss off the frontman or make Blake seem insincere. Possibly forgiving? Blake didn’t dare hope.

The country singer closed his eyes. He missed Adam since the moment the door slammed behind him. He just resolutely ignored those feelings until the eve of the relief concert when they inexplicably came rushing back. He and Adam needed to work through their problems. Meaning that Blake can no longer distract his boyfriend—they were still boyfriends, weren’t they?—whenever he attempted to discuss the future of their relationship in general and coming out specifically.

Frankie’s bark sounded louder than usual but he still heard the door unlock a second before it opened.

Oh God. What if Adam just chucks the rest of his belongings at him and slams the door in his face?

Adam opened the door and proceeded to throw nothing at him. He just stood there, in frayed jeans and a stained t-shirt, looking every bit as gorgeous as Blake remembered. It wasn’t until Adam cleared his throat awkwardly after making no move to greet Blake past a hesitant nod that Blake realized he was gawking at him.

“Hi,” Blake said.

“Hey,” Adam said. “Do you want to come in?”

Blake nodded, feeling suddenly awkward with his baggage hanging off of him. He wasn’t presumptuous, despite Blake really wanting to unpack his stuff in Adam’s bedroom. He just came from the airport and didn’t want to pay a taxi driver to idle outside on the very likely chance Adam kicked him out after Blake confessed and apologized. This way was more practical.

But at least so far there was no screaming or badly hidden glares. That’s a good sign.

“You can, uh, sit your suitcases wherever,” Adam said, sounding every bit as uncertain as Blake felt. Even their first time one-on-one was less tense than this. Actually, Blake didn’t remember their first few interactions being anything other than pleasant. He bit back a sigh. Those were simpler times. He dropped his luggage with a thud, wincing as the large painting on Adam’s wall trembled. Just another endless example of how he didn’t fit into Adam’s rock star lifestyle. 

“Safe flight?” Adam asked. He settled on his white couch. He hunched forwards, not quite looking Blake in the eye.

“Not bad,” Blake said. A baby howled the entire plane ride, but Blake too invested in his own turmoil to be particularly bothered. He settled in an armchair that faced Adam. “No Frankie?”

“I have her trapped in the kitchen,” Adam said. “Seemed neater.”

Blake grunted. He needed to get a sense of how pissed Adam was with him. Blake practically shoved Adam away when he tried to come to NBC with him. It wasn’t the first time Blake deterred Adam from joining him someplace public when it would look too suspicious, but it was certainly his most obvious. It wasn’t shame that kept Adam at arm’s length. It was fear. Blake let fear take ahold of him far too often. Fear of coming out, fear of public backlash, fear of losing people he thought he trusted...

And then he proceeded to rip into Adam because he forgot about Maroon 5’s Letterman concert. Blake was more than prepared to beg for forgiveness. He hadn’t treated Adam right for months. His own hurt feelings were minor compared to the wrongs Adam went through, genuine and perceived. No more distractions, no more fronts, just honesty and hoping that Adam was feeling merciful.

“I’m sorry,” the frontman blurted.

Blake blinked. Wide hazel eyes drilled into him. “What?”

“I’m sorry that I accused you of never wanting to come out, of wanting to stay in the closet forever. I’m sorry I doubted you,” Adam said. “I’m sorry that I made your relief concert, a fucking concert to help the tornado victims, about me. I’m just... I’m really sorry, Blake. For everything.”

“I provoked you,” Blake said. Words couldn’t escape him quickly enough. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. He needed to force it back on track. The wrong person was apologizing. “If anything I should—”

“You were right though. I haven’t been paying attention to you,” Adam said. His face turned self-deprecating. “I haven’t since I fucking went top 40.”

“Adam, no...” Blake was flailing. He was torn between damage control and confessing his own failings. Damage control inevitably won out because he despised the self-hatred that marred Adam’s features.

Adam shifted as soon as Blake sat on the couch, putting a solid foot of space between them. Blake pretended that didn’t affect him. “And yet another case of you coddling because I’m narcissistic. Stop feeling obligated to cater to me.”

No, no, no. Blake never intended this. The small part of Blake grateful that Adam was clearly apologetic was overrun in pure guilt. “You’re allowed to feel things, Adam.”

“And I want you to feel valued. I don’t want you to suffer because I’m not paying attention,” Adam’s face twisted, “because I’m thinking about myself.”

“If anything I should just communicate better.”

Adam sneered. “Or I can learn how to listen.”

“Then listen to me now,” Blake said. The frontman finally tore his gaze away from his lap. “I covered up my emotions and ignored them until they festered up. That’s my fault, not yours. I can’t expect you to read my mind.”

“And I shouldn’t need you to spell out how you’re feeling,” Adam said, frustration evident in his voice. “If I pay attention, I should be able to sense if you’re upset at the very least.”

Not if Blake’s poker face was up. He perfected that blithe façade in high school. “Adam, you spell out how you’re feeling all the time,” Blake said, hurrying as he saw Adam’s face turn disgusted. “It’s a good thing! I keep things bottled up. You don’t do that. You express yourself. You aren’t being self-centered or egotistical. Sometimes I wish I could share as easily as you do, but I don’t and I need to improve on that.”

Adam shifted. “But—”

“It’s my fault, Adam. You have to trust me on that,” Blake said. Adam could not possibly blame himself solely for their problems. Not after all the manipulation Blake initiated since the beginning of their relationship. Manipulation he was positive Adam wasn’t aware of. Blake was too used to stowing away boyfriends from the public—even the friends he was out to—that it was second nature. It was a terrible habit but a habit that protected his career in the past. He swallowed. It was a habit inexplicably difficult to break. “You were concerned about me staying in the closet as any—” ‘person with common sense would be’ was the rest of what Blake intended. But then Adam continued being a better person.

“I was being a dick,” Adam interrupted. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. I never ever want to pressure you. I was... well, I was thinking of myself again and ignoring the reality.”

“What? No, you were justified,” Blake said. Dammit it wasn’t Adam’s fault. He was torn between shaking Adam and stifling his own relief that he clearly didn’t blame Blake for any part of the argument.

“You’re out to people that matter,” Adam said. Blake fought a flinch. “You’re out to your friends and family and that’s fine. It’s more than fine because who cares what the public thinks as long as we’re happy? As long as our people we care about know. I can’t ask you to publically come out and I hate that I did.”

Blake’s will to confess dwindled as Adam’s eyes grew more sorrowful, more pleading. Adam’s apologies—that Blake didn’t deserve—and following guilt—no one gave themselves a hard enough time like Adam Levine—were eating away at the country singer. He needed to tell Adam. He had to tell Adam how secret his sexuality was. Adam’s forgiveness was making him blind.

Blake opened his mouth and words refused to come forward. He tried to take deep breaths. This was Adam. Adam. He could do this. He had to do this.

“Earlier this week I thought you were ashamed, that you were hiding me,” Adam said. “Then I realized something I knew from the start: It’s not that your friends don’t know about us, but my friends are so fucking loud and actually in LA. Their constant mocking made me forget about your friends because other than Usher and Carson we don’t see your friends a lot. Or at all.” Adam paused, a frown and a quick glance darting towards the country singer. Blake couldn’t control how his heart thudded. “Usher and Carson do know about us, right?”

Nope, they most certainly did not. Blake came to Hollywood diligently hiding his preference for men, even before The Voice and a good portion of people knew who he was. Hollywood and big cities were too full of cameras and wandering eyes for Blake to risk it. By the time Blake warmed up to Usher and Carson, it felt too late. Besides, he reasoned his sexuality was irrelevant since Blake hadn’t divulged in anything more serious than one night stands for years. The entire reason Miranda and Kelly knew about his sexuality was because he drunkenly confessed to Miranda and Kelly witnessed the aftermath of a particularly loud break up. He swallowed. The longer he lied to his other friends, the more impossible it felt to confess

Blake locked onto Adam’s wide hazel eyes. This was the segue he needed this entire conversation. This was the opportunity he needed to tell Adam everything. The unintentionally wide web of lies surrounding his sexuality, his continuous omissions, his fears, everything.

The prospect was daunting.

Worry crept into Adam’s eyes the longer Blake stayed quiet. The country singer’s mouth refused to cooperate, unmistakable terror closing his throat. His gaze flickered over Adam. He was inches away—the established gap forgotten moments after its creation—leaning forward, willing, forgiving, hoping. Blake swallowed. He just so recently got him back. He didn’t want to lose Adam again so soon.

“Of course, they just know we’re keeping things discreet.” The lie fell from his lips unbidden, unbidden but far too easily. Adam’s face instantly relaxed despite Blake’s—what felt impossibly wide—eyes.

“Really?”

He could fix correct his traitorous mouth’s declaration right now, but that would dent Adam’s beam, his ridiculous addictive radiant happiness. He didn’t want to see disappointment and betrayal takeover Adam’s face, deserved as it was. He didn’t want to see his boyfriend anything less than happy. If knowing that Blake kept Adam hidden from his two closest friends in LA would not accomplish that then learning of Blake’s blatant lies certainly would. His mouth clamped shut as he ignored the small conscious he still maintained.

Blake could only nod and hope that he kept his horror hidden. It was time Carson and Usher found out anyway. A time crunch would probably make his forever delayed timeline actually occur. He had a few months at least. Adam never visited The Voice set unless he was performing. While Maroon 5 was working on a new album, it wouldn’t be released for some time. He just had to keep him away from private Usher and Carson run-ins.

Besides, Adam was meeting Blake’s family—immediate family—this Christmas. That should reaffirm his commitment as well as keep the frontman from seeking out other important figures in Blake’s life.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” Adam collapsed onto Blake. Blake wrapped his arms around the frontman. His guilt sharpened as Adam burrowed closer. “I missed you.”

Blake’s grip tightened. “I missed you too.”

“Let’s not do that again,” Adam said. Blake knew his façade cracked, momentarily revealing things he would rather not expose, but Adam’s chin was firmly hooked over Blake’s shoulder so by the time he leaned back to beam, the country singer had his face in control.

Blake couldn’t help but mirror Adam’s smile. “Sounds good to me, rock star.”

Two furry paws chose that moment to thud against the couch. The frontman swore as Blake welcomed the distraction. Holding Adam led to too many conflicting emotions. Honesty warred with the desire to fix things before Adam grew aware of his deception. But until he thought everything through—validated his lying—he was falling back on previous distracting tactics.

“Hey, Frankie,” the country singer greeted. scratching the golden retriever behind the ear.

Adam rolled away from Blake. “How did you get out?”

Frankie yipped, nudging her head against Blake’s leg. He obediently scratched behind Frankie’s ears until a curly, white ball of fluff peered around the corner. Hello, distraction number two. Blake paused, glancing at his boyfriend.

“You got another dog?”

Adam turned sheepish as the fluff ball padded slowly towards the couch. “Um. Kind of.”

“Only kind of?” Blake said. “Did you steal him?”

“Her,” Adam said. “Her name is Fiona.”

“Who you only kind of own,” Blake said.

Adam turned an interesting shade of red. “Yep.”

“Adam, why did you get Fiona?”

Adam picked at the hem of his shirt. “She may be for you.”

“Me? Why?

“I panicked,” Adam said. “So I went by the pet store because...yeah.”

“Did...did you buy me an apology puppy?” Blake asked. Jesus, where did Adam get off calling Blake the nice one?

“I panicked,” Adam reiterated. “This was my first fight with a boyfriend where the thought of it ending in a break up terrified me.”

“I’d like to think we can withstand more than that,” Blake said. For Blake’s sake, he hoped that was true. “Adam, I really care about you. Your happiness is my guiding light.”

“I want you to be happy too, you gigantic dork,” Adam teased lightly.

Blake smiled at the normalcy, forced as it was. “You’re the one who got me an apology puppy.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to keep her,” Adam said awkwardly. “I can get rid of her. I don’t really want a second dog, but I’ll give her to Matt. He was the one who suggested I get flowers or some shit.”

Blake stared, amused by his rambles and trying to stifle the contrition that threatened to overwhelm him.

Adam clearly misinterpreted his facial expressions. He glanced down as Fiona sniffed his feet inquisitively. “Yeah I’ll get rid of her. I knew it was a stupid—”

Blake hid a huff. He couldn’t do anything right, a specific glaring example that was too fresh for Blake to ignore and already too huge to confess sprang to mind. “No, she’s great. I was going to get a dog soon enough for my ranch. Course, I was thinking of getting a bigger one.”

“She’ll get bigger,” Adam said after a moment, eyes hesitantly flicking back to Blake.

Blake relaxed his expression as he reached towards Fiona. The white dog dodged his hand. “And not even a hunting dog. You got me a poodle.”

“A poodle is a respectable dog,” Adam said. Their banter was still intact at least. “They’re friendly as shit.”

“She is a little shit, aren’t you?” Blake cooed. Fiona growled before bounding behind Frankie.

“She’ll warm up to you eventually,” Adam said. “You wear down on people like a fungus.”

“That is my biggest talent,” Blake agreed.

Adam’s smile faltered. He looked seriously at Blake again. Blake couldn’t restrain his brief second of terror. “We’ll move at your pace, ok?”

“We’ll move together,” Blake said, before wondering if that meant forcing Adam back four steps.

“Together,” Adam said, “and at your pace.”

Blake wrapped his arm around the frontman until his face was planted firmly against Adam’s neck. His hair was soft and unstyled, poking against Blake’s face. He closed his eyes, attempting to bask in Adam’s warmth and ignore his own clawing guilt. This would cause Adam less pain in the long run. It would. If he acted quickly enough then his transgressions today would be nothing more than white lies. White lies that lasted no longer than a month. Or maybe two.

Blake forced himself to relax into his boyfriend.

“Come on, let’s unpack your shit upstairs,” Adam said. The frontman stood up from the couch and slung one of Blake’s bags over his shoulder. Blake released a breath at Adam’s easy grin. Things were returning to normal, at least superficially.

“Let’s do that.”


End file.
